


The Creator's Puzzle Pieces

by DisneyPhantomlover



Series: False Protagonists [2]
Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: And Corcoran School of Arts and Design, And how any one would think the damn Ink Machine is a good idea needs exploring, And now Susie!, Art in second chapter!, Body Horror, Broken Bones, Chapter 11 dialogue inspired by squigglydigg, Drowning, Fleischer brothers, Gen, Goddammit Joey, Graphic description of broken bones, Henry was drafted Headcanon, I just feel like exploring how he got messed up, I will add more tags to this as I go, Ink tends to do that in this Fandom, Joey is a violent angry man, Joey isn't the only monster of a human here, Joey you are a bastard stop being sympathetic, Memory Loss, Murder, Smoking, Suicide, That's it I'm making this a tag now, Theres also Murray!, Trust when I say I'm not making excuses for Joey here, Updated for Chapter 3 of the game, Work Accidents, acetone, art in ch 12 too, art in ch. 9!, descriptions of dead bodies, don't light matches with your cheeks kids, headcanons ahoy!, lotsa cursing, mentions of FDR and the Great Depression, mentions of sacrificing humans, my interpretations of Boris being either Sammy or Wally, pre-game, searchers, so this story took a left turn into WTH and I'm stuck making sense of it, someone protect Wally Franks, the weird things you find researching, transitioning into game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-14
Updated: 2017-11-08
Packaged: 2018-11-13 23:56:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 39,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DisneyPhantomlover/pseuds/DisneyPhantomlover
Summary: All these little pieces make up the puzzle that is a human. Joey Drew is human, and these are his various pieces. Why did he think the Machine was a good idea? Why did he do what he did? It's easy to say he's mad or insane, but nothing in this life is easy. So we look at the pieces.He used to be a good man. Then he was a man with good intentions.Now he isn't even a man, and certainly not good.(These will not be in a consistent order like my previous story, but I will try and upload this on a steady basis.There will be many mentions of events in the previous work "Lost Black Sheep" but this can be read stand-alone.The last chapter is actually the previous chapters in order -with links- so anyone who wants to read them in proper order can do so!)





	1. Inspired Artist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (I was kinda shocked to find some “Out of the Inkwell” cartoons on Youtube. But this one was…surprisingly appropriate. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B4bYfiQ0_pQ
> 
> And I really do welcome any prompts you lovelies have. Be on the look-out for 'Yellowed Letters'.)

He’d always been a dreamer. Ask his mother, his father, or even the maid Miss MaryEllen. Without fail, they’d say his head was in the clouds, that they needed a string around his ankle to keep him tethered to the earth. That he was a no-good dreamer. How disappointing it was that only Lt. Colonel J. Bartholomew Drew had the decency to tell him to his face.

But one dream he remembered having clearly since he was young was a simple one. He wanted to be looked at in awe, not pity. He didn’t care how, he didn’t care what the circumstances would be, but he needed it.

Kind of hard when you are born with your foot nearly backwards.

He’s fairly certain the only reason his parents didn’t throw him out was because there was a midwife present and she would’ve gossiped had a new child been tossed out.  His folks were people of appearance first, and appearances had to be kept up after all. In their eyes, it was bad enough that he barely resembled his father, adding a disability on top of that had made the phrase “You’re lucky we kept you” whispered enough times that it had echoed in the hollows of the walls. But the whispers and quiet scorn had taught him a harsh lesson early on: you are your worst enemy and your own best friend. He could curse his luck and his terrible body and his inability to read numbers correctly and his horrid appearance… Well, who was he kidding, he did that in excess already... But. He had to remember that he was his own best friend as well. And damn if he didn’t have certain gifts in similar excess.

Once he’d been old enough to talk, he could tell how his mother or father acted differently just by saying something in a sweet tone. Or mentioning a small thing. He would never forget the spark in his mother’s eye as he told her she looked nice in her blue dress. Her face had lit up like a Christmas tree for a moment, and her eyes held warmth for him. From then on, he’d compliment his mother, and she slowly grew something similar to affection for him. He wouldn’t go out of his way to say it was loving affection, but it was still something pleasant. It was almost like the affection that Miss MaryEllen would show him. His father even grew to care for him once he’d learned how to write, and complimented his ability to twist such bizarre and yet amazing tales with a flick of his pen. His father loved stories. Especially the comedies. It took his mind off the flashbacks he’d have to the Great War when he flew.

He’d clawed and earned these scraps of affection from his family, and he worked every day to keep it. Even when his leg hurt so badly it could leave him breathless and stiff in sudden agony. He had to work to keep his temper when the pain was all-consuming, and turn into a beguiling young man when he failed and had snapped at someone. He was of the lowest priority in his household, he knew that would never change... But he had earned their respect and he’d keep it for as long as he was able.

The first time he went to a theater remains, to this day, one of the best memories he ever has. Miss MaryEllen took him to see the cartoons for one of his birthdays. His parents couldn’t join them for a proper dinner, but they did give him some coin to buy himself and MaryEllen some drinks and nuts. Once MaryEllen had helped him slide into a seat and set his crutches to his side, she had left for her own section. Not that anyone would’ve noticed her skin tone in this empty studio, but habits were hard to break he supposed. He watched the huge screen flicker to life with black and white, and the sound of a piano bouncing cheerfully around the entire theater. “Out of the Inkwell” popped into view, followed shortly by a pair of names: Max Fleischer and Dave Fleischer.

It was titled Cartoon Factory, and he entranced once the picture started. An amazing and true mixture of cartoons and reality, and it was just… Funny. He remembered seeing this strange contraption that only made sense in its execution. Half drew in pen, and the other half would erase. The poor clown on screen had trouble with a real-life made soldier, and how they all jumped back into a simple ink well. Oh how he wished he could watch it over and over again right then and there. Instead, he had waited until he was home to take an old notebook and a pen and try to draw some of his favorite parts. And when he had done that, he re-drew them. And again. Getting better and clearer every time. So he tried drawing little fantasies. His personal favorite was a doodle of himself taking his foot off like he was a toy, turning it around, and popping it back onto his leg. 

His father had actually been the one to praise him when he found the notebook. The older veteran had been so ecstatic to see the scribbles, and praised his talent. His talent could become a skill and he could do so much with it! Without the slightest prompting, his father had encouraged him in his art and his writing. He didn’t know until much later that his father had been quite the artist himself before the Great War. Or that he considered the talent the so-called proof he needed to be sure that the black-haired, green-eyed cripple was truly his son. No. At the time, he just thought he’d finally earned some common ground that he could share with his own kin.

His father became more involved in his life. And had even sent a few men packing if they tried to look at his son in disgusted pity or tried to knock him off his feet. He shouldn’t have felt so glad that his father defended him, but residual feelings of familial loyalty pulled at his heart and he felt genuinely glad he was worth defending. That someone wanted to defend him made his heart warm.

Joseph Bartholomew Drew was worth more than his sickly pale skin and his twisted club-foot. He was an artist. He was a writer. He was charming. He was strong.

And he was going to earn the respect to be looked at as a respectable human when he walked into a room.

He believed that with all his mind, heart, and soul. 

Now he just needed to get the walking part down.


	2. His Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How could you? You killed your friend, Joey. HOW COULD YOU??
> 
> ((Yeah. Like it says on the tin, this chapter involves murder. Be careful reading.))

He did not feel good doing this.

In fact, he hated having to do this. But he needed to.

He’d invited a man he’d once called a friend here, hoping to give him a fresh chance at something great! There was potential in the adjustments he’d made to the Ink Machine. A chance to really change things for the better. And dammit, Sammy Wes just couldn’t see it yet!

He’d HAD to cut him open. He didn’t want to. But he had to. He was already taking a risk with what he’d managed to do thus far…. And unfortunately, humans just aren’t made the same way cartoons are. So he’d needed to take out some things from Sammy… But now he’d fit a model. Now he was physically more equal to a cartoon. It wouldn't hurt him or the cartoon....

And on a second note, damn this man for being so damn tall! He couldn’t even remember all of what happened; he just remembered standing, Bendy in one arm and reaching to drop **that heart** in the Ink Machine, and then he was slammed into the side of the Ink Machine. It made his vision shaky and fade to white before the grey colors came back. He just caught view of Sammy running, and Joey was quick to try and chase, calling out his name as he ran through the studio.

The small chase threw him for a loop, but he’d managed to get the drop on Sammy right before he got the door. Nearly literal in that case as well, seeing as he beamed the blond in the neck and the force alone had knocked the thin man on his back. And once Joey leaned down, the damn skid rouge had slammed a wrench on his right foot! It would’ve been similar to a gag that he would’ve animated a few years ago, but the humor was completely absent here. He’d barely recovered from the throbbing pain when he saw Sammy get up, and he quickly tackled the man from behind before wrapping an arm around his neck. It would probably be the one and only time that he was grateful for his shorter height; just hanging onto the man and the thickness of his arm was enough to make Sammy Wes lax.

 _“GodDAMMIT Sammy! You don’t know what you’re doing!”_ How could he make him understand? How this could help him, and them. He wouldn’t be stuck in this body anymore, he could be better! He could be someone that everyone loved when he walked into a room.

And as the man scratched at his sludge-like arms and kicked, Joey looked back to the Ink Machine.

…Maybe… Just maybe… The entire ritual didn’t need to be done. He just needed to get enough Ink into Sammy. There wasn’t time for sneaking it into his food and water, and Bendy had given him the other kind of Ink.

 _“I’ll… JUST… SHOW YOU THEN!!”_  

He yanked on Sammy, and was nearly toppled by his sudden dead weight. But he was not so easily thrown off and started to pull the man back to the Ink Machine room. Once they were close enough, he tossed his friend under the huge nozzle of a spigot. Then it was just a matter of holding the nearby switch and waiting.

Once Sammy Wes had gasped for air, he slammed the switch to “On”. Sammy got in one more breath before the ink was gushing out of the spigot. Good… GOOD!

Even though he could hear Bendy’s screams in the back of the room, Joey was determined to see this through. Hobbling to Sammy, he gave him a sharp kick and stomped on his stitched chest. The scream hurt to hear, but it did what he needed. But Sammy was struggling still. Why couldn’t he just stay still??

He couldn't put him in the machine, he couldn't do that again, it needed to be outside.

Joey quickly crouched and sat on Sammy, grabbing his flailing arms and pinning them down. Sammy was never a match for Joey’s arm strength, and that hadn’t changed in twenty years. Still he struggled, fighting the ink that was pouring over his face.

Struggles turned to twitches.

Twitches turned into stillness.

Stillness lasted a good while before he pushed himself off the man.

He’d

…

“ _Sah-…. Sammy….?_ ” His voice broke, and he couldn’t hear his voice, he sounded like Bendy with those cracks…. He gently brushed a hand over his left eye, revealing a rather peculiar eye. It wasn’t an X like sweet Boris had in the other room…. It wasn’t even monochrome. His eye was bloodshot and wide... And his pupils were gone. Instead, his iris had grown slightly, and took on the iconic pie-cut shape.

There was no spark of life in those eyes though. And that was more terrifying to him than anything else.

But then Bendy did speak, his voice quivering in fear. “ ** _Ya…. Ya ki-… Ya k-k-kilLED-!_** ” His form shook as he stared at Joey, ink bubbling and overflowing his widow’s peek. Black dribbled down his white face, followed shortly by a sob.

He killed his friend

He killed Sammy Wes

He drowned someone

Killed

Murdered

….

…

A hysterical laugh bubbled out of his throat, and he backed away from the still body.

He killed him!

He killed HIS FRIEND!

He didn’t notice the black tears sliding down his face.

HE KILLED SAMUEL WES LAWRENCE.

….

GET UP.

PLEASE.

You needed to work… The ritual was mostly complete, his body was right, there was enough ink… Please get up…. He didn’t dare reach over to shake the man awake, afraid that he’d feel a body that was too cold and still.

He could listen to Bendy scream and sob all he wanted, and he nearly wanted to join him. But… This had to work.

…

Seeing Sammy’s chest rise with gasping breath and begin to wheeze and cough was enough to make Joey jump back onto his feet and back away. Faint images of mummies and zombies make him pause before he realizes that this worked, Sammy is back and he’s covered in the Ink and THEY HAVE A CHANCE.

This new machine is awful and terrifying, making that strange creature out of Norman and putting Alice through so much hell before he found the right one... 

But he knows what he's doing now. 

They will be great. They will surpass death itself. 

They have a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The artwork here can be seen on my tumblr as well: http://disneyphantomlover.tumblr.com/post/161838834689/


	3. Meeting Ross

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How Joey met Henry. And how he realized he could be more than what he was.

Some days, he really, really disliked using crutches. But his dislike never quite matched his hatred for his wheelchair. It may have been more reliable of transportation, but only marginally. It was huge, clunky, and a nightmare to maneuver. He could leave books and materials in his lap and maneuver around… But that made stairs literally impossible. So he stuck with the crutches and a heavy bag over his shoulders. It was the only way he could make it up the stairs.

Today, he was simply exhausted and about ready to break his crutches in his bare hands. He had been up and down the stairs all day just to make it to his classes. And DAMN IT ALL why was Corcoran so DAMN BIG?? The heat had already wore at his patience, his frustration and exhaustion had completely shattered it. Leading to him yelling at a bus that had ignored him sitting at the appropriate bus stop.

After two solid minutes of rather colorful cursing, Joey slumped back onto the bus bench, giving one of his crutches a hard kick with his good foot.

He was promptly embarrassed when a brown-red haired man had leaned down to pick up the crutch, brushing off the dirt. He completely expected the man -who on closer inspection seemed about his age if a little younger- to scold him or look at him with that same ugly, disgusting pity… But he got neither. Instead, the young man set the crutch alongside its twin and sat down at the bus bench. Not a word at first…

“You heading up to Fifth?”

Joey blinked in surprise, recoiling at the sheer nonchalance of his tone. It was…oddly normal sounding. And calm. He was not at all used to being spoken to in such a simple tone. Once the shock had worn off, he answered stiffly “Yes.”

“Great. I’m heading to Sixth.”

….

Joey didn’t exactly know what he expected, but a normal verbal exchange was not high on his expectations. Not wanting to risk another scene, he pulled his crutches closer and kept his eyes glued down the street to watch for the next bus. He didn’t want to acknowledge the man next to him more than absolutely necessary. It was only polite after all.

Once the bus had pulled up, the stranger had stood up and started to walk on. Joey had jumped to his feet, already balancing on his crutches and swinging himself to make it to the stairs of the bus. The doors of the bus were just about to close on him, but they opened back up instantly. Opening up like a curtain to the rather odd sequence of the stranger scolding the bus driver. For a man of few words, he could make his words have weight.

And that was the first time he met Henry Ross.

It would take much longer for them to become friends as they did. It was an agonizingly slow process, but he supposed it was better that way. For he learned that Henry was a calm man, almost to a fault. It took a few months before Joey realized they shared a class at the college together, when they had noticed each other on the bus coming to the college. They shared this comfortable kind of familiarity seeing the other, and Joey would be lying if he said he didn’t look forward to seeing Henry on the bus.

Seven months of familiarity had to pass before Joey actually moved to sit next to Henry.

He liked Henry. He was a fantastic listener, with some of the driest wit that Joey had ever heard in his life. Just a small deadpanned comment could make him double over laughing. When he asked to view Henry’s work in a small beaten notebook, he was a little surprised to see Henry so reluctant to hand it over. Though once Joey had charmed it out of his hands and had opened the cover, he couldn’t see why. Henry’s artwork was so good! Stylized for sure, but he had such a way with lines and a cartoon-like bounciness that made the characters on the pages come alive.

He said so to Henry’s face, and had been rewarded with a small smile.

Within a year of that first meeting, they had become good friends. Joey had invited Henry to his apartment, and upon learning the horrid condition that the able-bodied man was living in, had invited him to share the space. Henry had reluctantly accepted, not wanting to be a burden on his friend. And even afterward, he was the one who did the most chores or grocery shopping around the space. Joey tried to make him slow down, and was only marginally successful. It had taken bribing him with ordering dinner every Thursday and Saturday to make him slow down to a less frantic pace. It was the Depression that was making Henry anxious, he knew it. And he honestly didn’t blame Henry either… But he was better off. And he was going to share that with the one man who hadn’t pitied him.

Which… He was honestly curious about that.

One evening, he had finally gotten the courage to ask. “Hey Hen… How come you don’t look at me any different?” Henry looked up from his notebook, head cocked in confusion. Guess either he was being too vague or Henry was being a hint dense. “I mean… Since we met, you ain’t ever looked at me like I’m… Well. What I am. And don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. But how can ya do it?”

Henry merely shrugged, tapping his pencil against the paper as he tried to come up with an answer. But he was a little too slow, for Joey had tacked on “Not like there’s a respectable man out there with shit legs” before slumping against the couch.

THAT had made Henry set his notebook down, turning to face Joey. “What about that man we get the pleasure ‘a listening to on the radio nearly every night?”

That had made Joey confused more that anything. “…Henry, the only one we get to listen to this late at night is Roosevelt.” The fireside chat was a little forced, in his opinion, but he did like the gentle noise as he and Henry drew. But what the President had to do with any of this-

“Roosevelt can’t use either of his legs.”

“….What?” Joey blinked in surprise, and he nearly called Henry out on his outlandish claim.

“It’s true. My pop worked on his campaign. Said that F.D.R. got hit with polio and it messed up his legs something fierce. He shouldn’t even be walkin’, but he does. Probably outta sheer will, who knows.”

….Well damn.

Who the hell would’ve thought?

“And… Well. You aren’t much different. Just a little too loud.” He almost saw a smirk on Henry’s face before he went back to drawing in his notebook, but honestly, Joey was too stunned to consider it.

He heard rumors that F.D.R. was stricken with disease, but he could hardly tell just looking at the man. And this was the same man who powered his first Hundred Days and was revolutioning this country to get it out of the depressing Hell it’d fallen into. And that was with millions of eyes on him. Millions of eyes looking for a weakness to exploit and undermine. Like gnarled, useless legs.

If the goddamned President of the United States could have both legs screwed to hell, yet still managed to stand on them to show how strong he was? Joey could almost see how his friend could view him with the respect of a normal human being.

He had a chance. He could be viewed as respectable, even with one leg twisted like a gnarled branch.

He just needed to believe. And that, he could do. Henry just gave him the best inspiration and motivation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I shall probably re-write this chapter since it is now 2 in the morning and my brain is running on low. 
> 
> But still. Kinda like the odd direction this one took.)


	4. Lil' Devil Darling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He did it. He did it and he's so proud of his little Creation.

He’d done it.

He’d actually done it.

It had taken a whole year of research, the remainder of his family’s money before printing his own money, and more than a few messy, underhanded dealings. And that had been before agreeing to Mr. Murray Hill's strange help, which came with its own set of deals and problems. Like being blind and hand-less for three weeks. It was by sheer fortune that he had managed to keep the studio building, but lost everything else… He’d sacrificed so much and so many -the later of which Joey knew he’d be going to Hell for when his time came- and he still had so much to do before his final goals were completed. Plans had to be changed, his inventions modified….. His new hands were stained with both blood and ink, the two becoming almost synonymous in this studio now. All because of things he dared not mentally revisit or talk about, less he fully realize the consequences of what he’d done and do something stupid or harmful to himself. But he had to take the smaller victories when they came his way. And what was in front of him may have been small, but it was anything but a small victory.

Bendy was physically standing in front of him.  

Bendy, who he’d spent countless hours and sleepless nights drawing for and animating and voicing for and writing for, standing right in front of him… The little demon was standing in the middle of a pentagram, wearing some of the biggest pie eyes he’d ever seen on the character. Not that he blamed the little guy, his surroundings had to be so much different than the adventures he’d been animated into. Bendy was practically off model with his expression of pure awe, and Joey could feel his own cheeks from smiling so wide. Despite being seated in his wheelchair, he could feel his legs and arms trembling and his heart flutter in his stomach as the little devil started to move. All the fluidity of his original animation, made “flesh”. Course, Bendy had become shy under the intense attention, starting to bow in on himself to be smaller. Then, the shy demon lifted a hand and gave a little wave.

“ _ **Hello~!**_ ”

This warm, proud swelling in Joey’s chest had to be that feeling that young parents had always mentioned when they met their children for the first time. Maybe those children didn’t speak and were properly made of flesh and blood, but there was nothing else it could be. He grabbed onto the wheels of his chair and rolled a little closer, stopping with a kindly expression on his face as he leaned his elbows on his knees and addressed the ink demon. “Hello there. ….Can you tell me your name?” There was an inkling of worry this hadn’t worked…. He needed to be sure… This had to be what he needed… That this wasn't like Wally or Norman...

The living cartoon beamed at the opening for an introduction given, popping his chest with a thumb and leaning back with his eyes closed in pride as he answered. “ _ **Sure thing! My name’s Bendy! Bendy the Dancin’ Demon; pleasure ta meetcha!**_ ” Once his eyes had opened again, he’d held out a hand to Joey. “ _ **What’s your name, si-Oh!**_ ”

Joey had taken the hand and scooped up the little demon to his lap, wrapping his thick arms around the smaller demon and holding him close. He felt like sobbing and laughing all at once, and immediately forgot to regret the sacrifices he’d had to make for this moment. He’d done it. His little Creation… Alive as he was. Solid as he was. And sentient. Just as he was…. Only difference was the small demon patting his back with a gentle “plap-plap” of his glove against Joey’s thick vest.

“ ** _Hey there… You okay there, pal? No need for the ink-works. Did I upset ya or somethin’?_** ”

Joey shook his head against his Creation, leaning back to look Bendy in the eye. He could see the confusion and bits of concern in Bendy’s wide eyes and the bend of his widow’s peak. Even his toothy smile was less bright as he was more worried for this stranger’s odd behavior. Joey’s own fond smile stayed bright as he tried to pull himself back together. He brushed off imaginary dust from an inky arm, stopping to hold both of Bendy’s small shoulders and assess him. For one, Bendy really was no taller than a young child. Weighed light as a feather as well. The white cloth of his gloves and bowtie seemed freshly washed and starched clean, complimenting his face that was as clear as a fresh sheet of paper. The remaining black of his body, from his horns to his boots, was a mixture of thick black paint and ink, which reflected light ever so softly to show form.

He was far from upset, and he felt his voice choke as he said “No, no…. Ya could never such a thing, Bendy. I’m just….real happy is all.”

The demon cocked his head to the left, no neck to impede the movement. He wanted to ask what he could be so happy about that would initiate crying. But what came out was “ _ **Why do ya sound so familiar?**_ ”

Joey’s smile grew impossibly larger, and he had to wipe away a small tear that had leaked from his left eye. “Well…That’d be because I made you, Lil’ Pal.” Bendy’s eyes seemed to widen at that, pie eyes turning into small black beads in shock. “You see… My name’s Joey Drew.”

Silence settled between them after that sentence, but it was not tense or uncomfortable. Instead, it was gentle and curious silence, as a miracle should be. Bendy remained awestruck, not fully realizing the implications just yet, but finding Joey… This strange looking human…. Amazing. He carefully reached up and patted Joey’s cheek once. Then twice. When he got a small chuckle in response, both of his gloved hands were carefully feeling out the human’s entire face. The cartoon was used to textures like “soft” and “hard” and “rubber” and similar simple consistencies of surfaces, but he had never seen or felt anything like Joey. Solid skin and blunt hairs that stuck and poked… Even a little bit of give to his cheeks and the few wrinkles under his eyes. It was nothing like the elastic firmness of his own face. And those black rimmed eyes seemed to sink into this Joey’s face instead of resting on top…. This face was complicated and detailed, but no less expressive given those clear tears that continued to roll down his cheeks and seep into Bendy’s gloves. And those colors…. He could see the hairs on his face on top of his head start out as black, though a few pieces were fading into a darker grey. And even fewer were already white. But he didn’t know what this color of his skin was. It was a color, but he was so limited by “black” and “white” and various kinds of “grey” that….He simply couldn’t figure it out. And those eyes were even stranger! They were nothing like the single shape of black that his was, but instead layers of white and black circles with some other kind of colors he couldn’t begin to name.

Amongst his awe and curiosity, he finally realized this man’s face. Then it was Bendy’s turn to start crying black tears as he realized who he was touching and being held by. Those little whispers he could hear on the edge of his consciousness matched this man’s voice. He’d never seen a shade of color that didn’t fall between black, white, and grey, yet he slowly recognized the un-nameable colors that were on this man’s face. He never thought about having a Creator, for his purpose was limited to entertaining and existing in a realm of silliness. But here… This man had made him.

“ _ **You….Ya made me.**_ ” It wasn’t completely true, but it was true enough.

Joey nodded once, eyes filling with tears again. “That’s right, buddy. I made you.”

This was worth every drop of blood he’d made Wally spill. All the confusion and deals with that shady Hill. Those three weeks of personal Hell when he couldn't see or even feel around. All of it... Just to see Bendy, alive for one. And grateful to be here for another. This may be a temporary thing… But he knew just by looking at his Devil Darling that he was going to keep him alive. He was going to find a way to make sure that Bendy the Dancing Demon would be alive and stay alive. And he’d even bring Boris here as well… Maybe even Alice!

His thoughts were interrupted when he heard a small hiccup and sob, the little devil himself burying his face into the crook of his shoulder.

Right, right…. Joey held him close, rubbing small circles on Bendy’s back to help calm him. “It’s alright, lil’ buddy… It’s alright.”


	5. Not a Human Being

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You can't wake up, this is not a dream.  
> You are part of a machine,  
> You are not a human being."  
> \- Ashley Frangipane

He watched as Sammy swung up, choking on ink.

He…. He was back!

No… It was like Mr. Hill had said. His body was alive. But he’d be taken over by the Ink from the altered Ink Machine. A strangled laugh slipped out of his throat before he heard the distinctive thump of knees hitting the wooden floor. All he had to do was turn his head to see his little Devil Darling on the floor, gloved hands clutching his melting head. His sweet Creation looked like ice cream melting on a summer day, thick globs of ink rolling off to the ground as his breath hitched through teeth.

He couldn’t stop laughing then, even as reality began to hit him square in the chest at the sheer insanity of what was going on around him. This machine was meant to transfer life, which it did. From one being into another… But to the unknown eye, this was a murder machine. He’d killed so many with the Ink in this machine, and now he killed his friend. A founder of this Studio, his HOME!

His eyes were coated in black ink and yet all he could see was the insanity of what he’d done. And what his Creation had tried to do. Had he not learned?? After what happened to him? What had happened to Alice when he tried to bond her to Allison?? The threats that Susie made?!

He was not blind, he had seen Bendy sneaking around, trying to sneak Ink to Sammy Wes. It had been what they were arguing about before that damn blond idiot had come racing in. Now plans had to be adjusted once more, this whole ritual fixed… But at least now there was time to spare….

His laugh started to subside as he stood over his crouched demon, the mixed emotions coming through his ink-filled voice. " _Oh wow… You-… You really thought that would’ve stopped it??”_   He saw Bendy’s small body quiver for a second, his mind jumping onto the show of weakness as a chance to prove his point.  _“He DROWNED in it!!”_   He saw the flinch as Bendy clambered to his feet, only to cower a few feet away. It made Joey a little more repentant, and he tried to reel in his conflicting bursts of raw emotion. He shouldn’t be mad at Bendy… No. His little devil darling was a lot of things similar to him, but he was not a liar and he was not cruel. Joey was enough of that for the both of them. He tried so hard to imagine what Bendy had been thinking, why he would ever think this would be a good idea.

Maybe… Maybe it would have made things easier. Kept the mind a little more after death… But there was no way to test that now.  _“He didn’t have a chance to get used to the Ink, lil devil. And now? He’s DEAD. Dead and gone.”_  Black ink filled his throat and his heart as he admitted that new fact, and more ink leaked down his face. He even saw Bendy stand up, a little less afraid he hoped.  _“….But now? He’ll be better.”_ He had to be. That’s what this was all for. It’s why he practiced on the others. Why ink and blood stained his soul to make it this black. _“He won’t be a simple human anymore.”_

**_“WHAT’S WRONG WITH THAT??”_ **

Bendy was reared up, standing between what used to be Sammy and who considered himself Joey. He was finally angry, and Joey could see bits and pieces of himself in that round face and stiff little body. And he definitely saw that frustration at things being wrong or unfair.

He didn’t get it. He didn’t get slung with hatred and slurs. Books and crutches pulled from his hands or shoved to the floor because someone thought it would be funny to watch the _cripple_ writhe on the floor. Being talked down to because he was in a chair. The pity that accompanied baby-talk because they thought someone was invalid to be so young and gnarled. The only time that being treated as an equal was flashing greenbacks and proving they deserved to be here as much as the SPOILED. So much hatred was in this world. And even people he once considered friends were quick to insult him based on his condition.

Damn crippled coward

Rich sonnvabitch who can’t even walk straight

And then there was family that wasn’t better.

Should’ve left you in a shallow tub

You aren’t mine not with those looks

I knew you weren't mine

….

Humans were awful. Not cartoons though. 

In cartoons, insults could be thrown and retribution given just as quickly. If something was wrong, it was easily fixed or adjusted. A far cry than this human realm.

 _“…. Oh my sweet cartoon… Everything.”_  He fell to his knees, just trying to make his Creation understand this small but important truth.  _“We are awful things… We do things worse than… Than you could even imagine.”_ Humans were no worse than Satan himself, worse than the beings that Bendy was based off of.

 ** _“If ya humans are such terrible things, than why bother??”_**   Oh bless Bendy… He still held out for hope. That mangled shred of hope that humanity was not horrid and wretched.  ** _“… You gotta stop this. Sammy… He didn’t do nothin’ wrong to ya.”_**

 _“… I know he didn’t, Bendy.”_ He could forgive him for thinking that kind of lie. _“But… Love requires sacrifice.”_

His little demon seemed to get it. He could see the tension in his shoulders lessen and his head start to bow forward. He didn’t want to break his ch-…Creation’s world view. But it had be done. 

**_“I’m sorry about this then.”_ **

He couldn’t begin to question. With a crazed holler, Bendy had tackled his head with all the weight he could manage. Joey had to get to his feet, struggling to pull Bendy off his head and failing. He was so small and riled and sharp, it was like wrestling a feral cat! Amongst the struggle, he noticed that a weight had been removed from his vest. THE HEART!!! HE COULDN'T LET ALICE GET IT!

 _“SHIT, Bendy NO!”_  He swung his arms back, trying to get the heart back. THAT WAS BORIS’S HEART, IT COULDN’T BE THROWN LIKE THat stop no….

Rubberhose arms wrapped around his neck felt like a true rope, and he saw his vision becoming more and more blurry. Something was against his back now… Bendy… Bendy and ….

The Ink Machine.

**_“SAMMY!!! HELP!!!”_ **

Why was he calling that dead man?

It was getting harder and harder to breath, much less form coherent thoughts. He needed to get away from the machine and-

He felt thin arms wrap around his waist, heaving him up. He was almost over the lip of the machine’s lid.

Fuzzy shapes filled his vision… Ink was full in his ears…. He knew Bendy was speaking, but he couldn’t understand any of it… What was going on?

Another tug on his neck.

Thick ink washed over his body, the sudden chill reminding him of when he jumped or fell into his family’s pool.

….So mu _c_ h _in_ k…..

H _e wa_ s…

_NO!_

_Panic ripped through his body, adrenaline making him fight the hold on his neck as he pounded on the inner walls of the Ink Machine, nails scrambling to grab the smooth metal and pull himself out. He grabbed the tight arms around his neck, wrenching it off and hearing Bendy cry out._

_He cried for Sammy to help him._

_The lid slammed shut, locking._

_He pounded the wall and lid. HE COULDN’T DIE YET HE’D BEEN PROMISED!!!_

_LET HIM OUT!_

_LET HIM OUUUT!!_

_PLEASE LET ME OUT!!!_

_…._

_It was too late._

_His body started to break down. Dry Ink diluting in the sheer amount of thick ink in this machine. Arms and legs broke away. His lifeblood was forced through his veins and body. Eyes melted in the ink._

_And yet, here Bendy was. He could feel the form of his little devil swim in the ink and hug what remained of his body. He would’ve pushed away, but his arms were gone now. And yet… He curled what remained of his body around his cartoon._

**_“I’m sorry….”_ **

_“How did you know?”_

_“ **I found Wally’s body in here before.”**_

_“I see…. Well. Used to.” Joey’s voice died down at the joke, and he felt ink bubble past his lips. “ Guess Mr. Hill didn't take his body out. …You know what this means though.”_

_He felt a little wave, like Bendy had nodded. “ **Uh-huh. …. But Sammy won’t turn it on.”**_

_“We’ll see.”_

_We'll see if Bendy could learn from a school of hard knocks then. Sammy was weak. He'd want to leave. He'd turn it on._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((For some reason, listening to mixes of Halsey's "Gasoline" really inspired this one. And I am suffering from severe sunburn so excuse me as this chapter pitters out.))


	6. Bitter Fallout

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The fallout of his Last Fight with Sammy Lawrence.

He held his head in his hands, half laying across his desk. He heard the shuffles of the accountant Cohen sneaking out the door. He couldn't blame the man; he wouldn't have wanted to be here either. His knuckles were already starting to complain from the punch he’d thrown just a few minutes ago. It was a warm, angry reminder of what he’d done to his last friend.

That bastard, that stupid little skid rogue whose only decent contribution to this world was the fact he had a good ear. So what if he’d been only one of two who never viewed him with pity, but as a true equal. So what if the infamous Army of Three had been dissolved. He’d made sure no one thought the lesser of Lawrence because he had a record and no roots to call his own, and how was he repaid? It wasn’t his fault that loans were hard to get and theaters thought it was optional to pay on time. They’d faced money troubles before, and it had ignited both of their tempers before, but they had managed to work around it. The Ink Machine had helped then, and now he just needed another idea to make it through this low point….

Now he wouldn’t have Lawrence or Ross though.

No, no need to think like that. He survived much longer before he’d met either of them. HE was the one who had gotten this space for the studio. HE had kept it running while working. So he’d be DAMNED if he was going to let this set them back more. He gave and gave, and all that happened was that they took. Then had the gall to blame him.

Pushing himself up in his chair, Joey roughly rubbed at his face before letting his hand comb through his hair. He was better. He needed to take a look around the studio. That would help take his mind off things… So long as he stayed away from the Music Department. Maybe he’d let Norman Polk take over as the Director. That black bear of a man would do well here… The projectionist needed extra work anyways. He said so constantly. And he didn’t enjoy arguing, so maybe Norman would actually listen to him and do as he asked. His ear wasn’t as good with creating melodies, but he could coach the actors and get the musicians to play and… Well. Everything else Lawrence could do in his sleep.

No, he wasn’t going to think of that bastard.

He took his cane, fiercely standing straight as a rod with its minimal help. Once he was sure he wouldn’t falter, he started his rounds around the animation department. He found Peter working on ‘tweens, quickly flipping pages as his pencil flew. Next to him was a young pachuca, who had only been hired on the previous week and he couldn’t remember her name yet. But she would snatch the penciled in-betweens and quickly trace them once more with a pen before erasing distracting pencil lines. Her work was so clean, and he knew the interns a few floors down would have their work made for them to fill in the larger spaces with greys and black.

He turned a corner, finding other similar pairs doing their jobs just as quickly. It was a thankless job, Joey knew that for sure… He’d have to bring in a few bottles of scotch once this episode was done. The paycuts were hard to make, but there was no way around it.

Though he had to pause on seeing an empty desk. Who would be gone at this time of day when a deadline was so close??

Ah, wait a tick. This desk was the only one free of ink stains and yet was littered in bubblegum wrappers. Wally Franks.

The only worker in this whole studio who truly lived up to the phrase “worth his weight in gold”. Even if he was a scrawny paddy kid… He had been hired as the janitor at first, but Joey had seen his skill with drawing. Not a spit of true creativity in him, unfortunately, but he supposed the quality and quickness of work that Wally could do could make up for that lacking. He was the only one who got away with being away from his desk too long; simply because of the other things he was probably doing around the studio. If not animating, he’d be cleaning up the other smaller rooms in the studio or mopping up the thicker pools of ink... Hell, he could remember his relief learning that Wally was a good artist when he’d picked up the work while Hen-…..Ross had been sick….

Mood officially soured again, he decided to go ahead and try to look for Wally. If nothing else than to see if another pipe burst and he needed to call in Connor. He’d almost made it to the stairs when Wally Franks himself nearly flew right into him. “Nearly” because the dumb red-head had stopped on a dime and twirled -yes, twirled, there was no other word for that spinning motion on his left foot- around Joey, only to trip and fall on the floor with a resounding “PLAP” sound effect.

Wally’s small groan as papers fluttered to the floor around him was comical enough to make Joey’s lips tweak upward in a smile, but it fell once he saw some of the papers. Music sheets… A lot of them. And a small photograph that had slid to his own feet. Heh… He had that same photograph in his apartment…. Now what was Franks doing with it? “Trouble, Wally?” His voice came through as a little more threatening than he intended, but it at least had the effect of the paddy looking properly panicked as he started to pick up papers.  

“No no, sir!” He shook a hand, properly sheepish as he cradled some of the papers in his other arm. He scrambled to his feet, only to crouch down and pick up the remainder of papers. He succeeded, until Joey’s cane rested on the photograph. Wally visibly flinched, but he still tried to look up to Joey with a small smile.

Before he could try and make an excuse though, Joey spoke first. “You clearing out Lawrence’s office then?” His tone was as sharp as he felt, and he felt rather prideful that he could make Franks cower slightly. He’d only started to stammer when Joey became impatient and barked “Well?”

“N-n-n-n-NO sIR!” Well that was a ridiculous cracking voice. Wally noticed it as well, but shot up and stood up, leaving the photograph on the floor. “H-he as-…asked me tah geh-get r-r-r-ridda theeee-…these…”

“Oh he did, did he?” That anger in the pit of his stomach once more, but he knew just by looking at Wally that he wasn’t lying. He was too nervous and close to stuttering again, and instead just nodded. “… Fine then. Make sure nothing gets left over. We don’t need reminders of that former thief tainting this place.”

A silence fell over the nearby workers, and Joey had to turn around to see what was the problem. He saw nothing but the confused and baffled stares of the animators, and what he could only assume was astonishment from Norman and a handful of other musicians on the stairs.

“….Oh don’t act so surprised. I’m just confirming it. You want to know why Lawrence stuck around here? He had no where else to go. No one would dare hire a con like he was. He could’ve been drafted like Ross had he not gotten arrested so much. But nope. He’s just damn lucky he had a decent ear. Now. If you all are done staring, we got a deadline coming up.”

The cane dug into the photograph, tearing it slightly before Joey started walking back to his office.  

And Joey had to admit, it felt good admitting all that. Let them think whatever they thought of him, but he was done protecting Lawrence and Ross. Let them see those two for the cowards and bastards they were.

This had been Joey Drew Studios first.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Everyone pray for Wally, he's not going to have a good time in these next chapters.))


	7. Sammy Wes is a Lil Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of the nicer memories of the studio once things were going. Sammy Wes is his friend, but damn he's good at being a pill.

He liked Sammy Lawrence. Really, he did. The blond man had a true talent for music and sound design, and yet he still worked hard to use that talent. If he wasn’t working on the music or sounds for the cartoons, he was still buzzing around the music department to help others. He’d helped train the new voice-actress how to work around the bulky microphone, and now they had their very own Blanc in studio! Although if you asked him, Susie Campbell was certainly a more personable and sweeter individual, and unlike Mel Blanc, Susie’s voice didn’t grate on everything and everyone. And while he had thought to hire out an orchestra band for their songs, Sammy had convinced him to let on a group of younger street musicians to form an in-studio band. He’d been skeptical at best, but two weeks under Sammy’s guidance and already they were performing better than most of the orchestras he’d visited. If things were particularly slow around Joey Drew Studios, Joey could count on finding Sammy doing odd jobs around the studio, even helping out that new paddy janitor with clean-up.  

Despite all of this and the good he did for the studio since its conception, he had to flat-out admit one certain fact.

Samuel Wes Lawrence was a severe pain in the neck.

Joey had heard Henry mention in passing that Sammy’s temperament seemed to match his own. Though Joey sincerely doubted he was this insufferable. He and Sammy constantly bickered over this, that, and the other thing. He could count on one hand the amount of times they’d agreed on the same thing without involving a song-and-dance. But bickering was one thing; he could never really say that Sammy Lawrence was an angry or bitter individual, though he had the right to be. He’d say that his friend had the patience of a cat, but was just as ill-tempered if pushed just a little too far past his comfort zone.

Thankfully, the man was loyal as could be. Joey had only heard of fights breaking out when there had been whispers discrediting him as the Lead of the Studio or Henry as a focused Head of Animation, so he just ignored the occasional bruised hand or black eye. He could forgive a little violence coming from a good place. But the fact remained that Sammy was… Exuberant. And sometimes anger was that exuberant emotion. Lord above help you if you interrupted Sammy while he wrote background music for the show; Joey knew he could get… a little sharp when deadlines came up. But he was a down pillow compared to Sammy’s sharp tongue and harsh manner when a deadline was near. He’d come down to the Music Department to check on him once, only for Sammy Lawrence physically pull him over his shoulder and race down to the recording studio. Apparently, some poor intern lost some of Bendy’s audio and he’d needed Joey to re-record right then and there. He’d done the same thing to poor Susie when she had been about to leave, which led to multiple screams about her new coat being ruined.

He’d learned after then to stay clear of the Music Department unless necessary when deadlines were close.

To add onto his rather interesting character, Sammy had a particular gift for wit. Nothing like the dry wit that Henry had which was genuinely funny, no. But sharp little comments or well-timed points that seemed to provoke a more wild response. He got such a kick out of it, but no one called him out on it less they be the new target of his jokes. And absolutely no one commented on the pranks. Last one who did had been the paddy janitor, who nearly tore up the animation studios after hours looking for his keys. He’d almost felt bad for the kid at first, then became genuinely confused when he’d still been looking after two hours. Once he’d finally gotten in on the search, Joey had to admit confusion on where in blazes those darn keys had gone. It had been a rough half hour before he went to Sammy to recruit his help. The bastard merely gave a shit-eating grin before pulling out a pair of keys from his pocket. And when probed for an explanation, all Sammy did was shrug in faux innocence. Wait. No. Shrug, then drop the keys into trash can that had been emptied. It had taken Franks another half hour to find the keys before going home.

Then, there was the little….quirks that Sammy had. The smoking was commonplace to him, he’d grown up with smokers and was used to Henry smoking cigarettes just as much. But unlike them, Sammy refused to use a regular lighter. Instead, he had packs of strike-anywhere matches in his office and the recording studio. That bothered Joey more than anything, given those kinds of matches were liable to catch anything on fire. Something he considered understandably unsafe in a wooden building surrounded by PAPER AND INK AND FILM.

And worse still, he knew why Sammy had those kinds of matches. The blond had incredibly stubborn 5 ‘o clock shadow, and took some bizarre joy in being able to light one of the matches with his cheek. Something that Joey and Henry both swore to never admit they thought was a neat trick. It was unsafe for him and the studio, so they had to try and curb it. They’d tried stealing the packs and boxes of matches, leaving safety or book matches in their place. It worked for only a day or two, when Sammy’s stubble grew out. Then the bastard would go out of his way to come up to the animation desks and strike a match down his cheek or against a piece of glass.

And then there was the overalls. He knew Sammy wore them more often than not, which had made more sense when he was living off scraps on the street. But since he was being paid to be a proper Music Director, Joey had put his foot down and told Sammy Lawrence to never come into work wearing overalls again. It was supposed to be a moment of pride, trying to convince his good friend that he had a steady job and didn’t need to worry about work or money again.

The man in question had taken it as a challenge to frustrate both him and Henry. He’d come into the studio looking like a proper working man, suspenders and tie and all… Then in the middle of the day, switch to a ratty collared shirt with those damn overalls. It drove him up a wall, though he didn’t know how Henry felt about it. He had just finished a new character design of a wolf who wore the darn things, but he still threw random ties at Sammy if he wandered in wearing them.

Still… Admist all the quirks and odd habits that irked him to no end, he was glad to have met Sammy Wes. He was a good friend and a good worker, along the same vein as Henry Ross. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Joey had just received the script for a new short from the writers, and was hobbling down the stairs in his crutches. His leg was giving him just a little bit more difficulty that day, but a studio with stairs demanded movement between the floors. He really needed to get it re-set again…. Maybe once this next deadline had passed and they had a little more breathing room.

His small train of thought was derailed when he noticed Sammy walk by. And…In the same clothes he’d been wearing when he came in this morning. He remembered the green color of the shirt standing out like it did. Huh. Maybe he finally was coming around to the idea. He’d take the visible suspenders over those worn overalls any day. But where was he going to in such a rush? “What’s got you in a rush, Lawrence? We still have two weeks.”

Sammy didn’t stop, just waving a hand at Joey as he turned the corner and walked up the stairs to the recording studio’s top floor. He wouldn’t have thought anything of it…had not he saw that wide smirk on his face. He was up to something, Joey knew it. But he didn’t exactly feel like crawling up a second set of stairs… So he held his tongue, making his way toward the voice actor’s booth so he had a chance to practice. Doing Bendy’s voice was killer on his throat, but everyone seemed to like it…

Course, all thoughts of practicing came a grinding halt when he saw the janitor. Now, anyone else would assume the kid was doing his job, sweeping out a corner while he chewed on a cigar too thick for his thin mouth. Nothing terrible since he was still working and all.

Joey saw the lanky ginger wearing a familiar set of overalls while chewing on one of Sammy’s cigars. A clear payment for roping the paddy into a joke of sorts.

“God…Dammit Sammy Wes.”

He adored his friend, but man if he could get under his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((I needed a moment of cute and this goofiness fell from my fingers.))


	8. Get Outta Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The real reason that Joey decided to hire a mechanic like Murray wasn't because the Ink Machine broke. It was because the Ink Machine broke someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Be careful reading this one, it gets descriptive with broken bones. 
> 
> Also I would like to apologize for hurting Wally Franks. He didn't deserve this shit either.))

Everything was going downhill now.

He’d tried. Lord had he tried to keep this studio afloat. But there was no money coming in anymore. Workers who made it through cuts had finally given up, some giving their two-weeks notice and the rest simply walking out of the studio. He had tried to pick up the slack on his own or convincing what few remained to take on even more work. Everyone was stressed, everyone was tired, and no one wanted the final product. But he tried. He was trying to keep this studio running, and if that was on nothing but duct tape and spite, than goddammit, he was going to do just that!

….Still. It had made a rather heavy weight settle in his gut when he came across Wally Franks a few nights ago with his tape recorder. The paddy had such a bad stutter, which did not help his thick accent any. He could understand Shawn Flynn better than he could Wally half the time! So the younger man would talk into his near infamous tape recorder, recording himself over and over again. Joey didn’t quite get it at first, but his speech had been improving slightly. …. And he supposed it was a natural progression to use it similar to a diary. Like a few nights ago. 

He hadn't meant to eavesdrop. He'd been inking some of the frames when he heard Wally near his door. “At this point, I don’t get what Joey’s plan is for this company. The animations sure aren’t being finished on time anymore.” That wasn’t his fault, they were so short-staffed now- “And I certainly don’t see why we need this machine. It’s noisy, it’s messy. And who needs that much ink anyway?” Everyone in the studio used the ink! …Okay so it was over-producing lately. “Also, get this. Joey ha’ each ‘a us donate somethin’ from our work station. We put them on these lil’ pede-“ Wally paused, and Joey heard the grumbling as he rewound the tape and tried again. “Joey had each of us donate something from our work station. We put them on these little pedestals in the break room.” Yes. This was because of the way the Ink Machine worked now. It needed some items to run properly, Mr. Hill had made that clear.

“I think he’s lost his mind, but, hey, he writes the checks.” …. “But I tell you what, if one more of ‘ese pipes burst, I’m outta here.” A click, and the blocky recorder was set down on a shelf before Wally began mopping up the ink on the floor.

Joey would admit to being rather bitter and sharp with Wally since then. He had not lost his mind. He hadn’t.

Course that was right when the Ink Machine had decided to break down and pull Joey Drew back to the present. And worse, it wasn’t flooding like normal, but audibly grinding to a halt while the inner workings squealed in metallic screams. It was like nails on a chalkboard, which is why he was trying to run with a cane. He was joined by Wally, who was noticeably out of breath… He must have just come from downstairs. The sound inside the Ink Machine Room was deafening, but Joey forced himself to get close to the Machine. “Dammit…. WALLY!” His voice carried over the din of the machine, and the janitor reluctantly saddled up closer. “OPEN UP THE MACHINE!” He had to keep yelling to be heard over the machine’s grinding, but tried to not sound as angry as he felt. “SEE IF SOMETHING GOT STUCK! I’LL GO REMOVE ONE OF THE TRIBUTES!” He hadn’t waited for a response before making his way out of the room and going to the break room. They shouldn’t have disappeared yet….

Once in the power room, Joey reached out and grabbed the nearest item. It just so happened to be one of the little plush toys of Bendy in a bathing suit and sailor hat, which he snatched and threw behind one of the dressers. After only a moment, he could hear the Ink Machine quiet down, bringing the studio to blissful silence.

But then there was an honest-to-God blood curdling scream, followed by loud bangs and more screams. Coming from the Ink Machine Room….

His anger at Wally Franks dissolved right then and there, and Joey started running, tripping over his feet and slamming against the walls trying to get back to the room. The sight he came to was…honestly a little strange and unsettling. Wally was flat on his back, his foot twisted and broken in the visible gear. That wasn’t even mentioning his arms, both pulled to his chest and coated in thick black ink so he couldn’t see what was wrong. But the pained sobs coming from Wally were enough to tug at whatever remained of Joey’s empathy. Cursing a mile a minute, he went to the gear and tried to carefully pull his foot out. It wasn’t budging and Wally was whimpering, so he tried pulling the foot out of the shoe. That worked out a little better, but Joey still felt sick seeing the foot bent and crushed as it was. Crushed…. If he managed to walk at all after this, he’d be surprised….

Setting the foot down, he carefully knelt down by Wally’s side and tried to push him up. He was about to ask what in the hell happened when he saw the freckled arms through the ink. Those arms were broken. And not even cleanly broken, but almost shattered and twisted around. And he couldn’t even see Wally’s right hand-OH GOD WHERE WAS HIS HAND??

“Jah-JoEY! Th-th-there wah-was som’- Th-there was som’thin’ ‘n-OW JESUS CHRIST! I-i-i-I ka-can’t feel my arms!” He dissolved into more stuttering in his panic, and honestly Joey was about ready to follow him down into that panic.

He held Wally’s chin, forcing him to look up instead of examining his arms and leg. “Heh-hey now…. No flipping out on me, Franks… It’s okay. Ya jus’ tripped… Something awful for sure, but nothin’ a hospital can’t fix up…” Shit he needed to get Wally to a hospital. He didn’t have a car, and he was sure Wally didn’t either, who could….

Turning his head to the door, Joey Drew’s voice could be heard through all floors of the studio as he bellowed “NORMAN! SHAWN! GET YOUR FAT ASSES UP HERE!” Norman was good! He knew where the hospital was and had his own car. And hopefully an insult to his appearance would get him to run up here instead of mope downstairs. Shawn would help him understand Wally if he went to shock. And the man hated any comment made about his appearance, so he'd be stomping up here soon enough.

Turning his attention back to Wally, he placed his other arm on the ginger’s shoulder, not sure how to calm him down but willing to try. He was starting to calm down, bit by miniscule bit, but his stutter was making it hard to understand. “I’m sah-sah-sorry Jah-Joey… Sum-sum-smthin’ pul-pulled m-m-me….M-made me slip…I’m ss-s-sorry… Eh-it hurts s-s-so much….”

“Quit talkin’, Wally… You’re hard enough to understand… Save that talking for later, you got it?” He kept a firm grip on Wally’s chin to keep him from looking. He really, really didn’t want to have Franks flip out and go into something like shock just yet. But what he said had stuck. Something pulled him? Made him slip? He had Wally open up the Ink Machine multiple times, and even if he was clumsy as a baby horse, Wally Franks was smart enough to not get caught in machinery. Taught by working in a factory after all. But what could’ve pulled him in?! It was a damn Ink Machine!

The rest of the day was a blur to Joey. He knew Norman had come up, and seeing the man’s face fall like a pile of bricks was added to the quickly growing list of shocking sights today. He knew that Shawn had come up after Norman, and had been deathly calm. He'd gone to Wally's side, his voice far too gentle and sounding strange as he cooed "'Ey, 'ey... Franks... Níl ach braon beag fola ort... Beidh biseach ort go luath....." He didn't know what that meant, but the words were seared into his mind now. He did know that the four of them drove to the nearby hospital, where they were shooed away while nurses took Wally Franks away. Shawn was able to convince the nurses he was a cousin of Wally's, somewhat helped by the fact the nurses asked no questions about a pair of Irishmen being related. And Joey definitely remembered being grilled by Norman Polk, being pinned to a waiting room wall while the man demanded an explanation on what had happened. Norman only settled after a few minutes of him pleading and Shawn begging him to not make a scene, and they all sat in the waiting room in silence. It was practically dark when a doctor came out to see the two of them, and promptly ignore Norman and Joey since they weren’t Wally’s family. Shawn had worked his magic, still keeping up the ruse of being a concerned cousin, allowing the doctor to speak freely and tell him what happened. 

Thankfully, Wally would be okay. He was alive.

...But… That was the only good news.

Wally H. Franks... The hardest worker he had, his favorite to watch spin and dance and animate for shorts, one of the fastest artists he’d kept…. He lost his dominant hand. Both arms were shattered, but while one could easily be reset, the other had been amputated to the elbow to cut down the rate of infection. And his foot was irreparably shattered… Just like Joey, he’d never walk proper again.

….

Well. He couldn’t blame Wally Franks never coming in again. He never would if that had happened to him.

But he still stayed by the Ink Machine. Something was up with it. And he was going to figure out what had pulled Franks in. He had heard of a mechanic named Murray Hill... This strange man who had worked alongside Thomas when repairs needed special attention… Maybe he would be able to fix it.

He had to.

It was already so bad, it could only get better from here, right?


	9. The Price of the Artist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn't willing to pay the price at first. But ten years can change his perception until he is willing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Okay, this ended up being one of the longer chapters I wrote. I think because I was prevented from writing for a few days, but who knows.
> 
> Also, as a heads up, there is a lot of vaguely written body horror in this one. As well as Joey being a product of the times and being a bit of a racist Jerk.))

This was his price. Murray had called it a punishment. Both were the same in this situation, he supposed….

To start from the beginning of it all, he had found a way to change the Ink Machine. The first model had broken and leaked too much, and was simply a machine that processed and made and recycled ink. This second model was able to do so much more.

….

No. That was a lie. It was ridiculous of him to think he was so noble and thoughtful in this story. He was no such thing. What had really happened was so much more convoluted and messy. The first model had been accidentally blessed. So much ink was processed and recycled and made, and used with such intent in this studio…. That intent had altered the property of the ink. And the machine had tried to make a living being out of the ink itself.

It had almost worked… But the cost of its sentience had been rather high. It had been so confused when it was “born”. And just like a babe, when it noticed a light above it, it had reached for the vague being in the light. But when it tried to pull itself out, it had only succeeded in pulling Wally Franks in. In the confusion, his hand was lost in the machinery, his arms broke when the lid had slammed down, and his right foot had been crushed in the gear. That had been a night Joey could never forget…. Nothing but confusion from both sides and a lack of luck from everyone involved. He’d lost his best worker that night. That incident made him give up, so he had fired the remainder of workers and let them move away from his home. It damn near broke his heart to file for bankruptcy the following week. Luck and spite alone that had helped him keep this studio space, as well as the machine. But the poor being inside the Ink Machine had caved in on itself, afraid to reach out to the light and hiding in the nooks and crannies of gears. It still made the machine break down and sputter to a grinding halt though, so it was far from hiding.

Regardless, he’d tried to drain the machine and break it down, to see exactly what had happened. He’d eventually found the moving mass of ink, bubbling and popping in his hands before it slid through his fingers and seeped into the floor.

He’d immediately left the studio, unable to cope with this information. What had he done?? He had wanted to bring creations to life, but not like this! Not confused and messy and harmful! And certainly not without control. He’d messed up quite a few things over the last few years, pushed away others he had once called friends. And he didn’t want to risk others being harmed when there was no gain in it. There was no gain in what had happened to Wally Franks, either for him or that confused being that had been in the studio.

Then he truly met Murray Hill. Or, this man came to the former studio’s doors, complete with a recommendation from the former repairman, Thomas Connor. The man’s name didn’t fit his Asian appearance, and he’d been severely reluctant to let a jap alone into his home. But then again, no one else would come here. He’d tried. But what rumors and nonsense Connor spread once he left had poisoned his reputation even more. Hill was the only mechanic in this whole valley that would take such a bizarre job, and with such little payment. At first, Joey had been resistant to telling him on what exactly had happened. He tried to dance around the real problem, mentioning the grinding and clogging and flooding without mentioning the little blob that had almost killed his janitor and animator. But Mr. Hill seemed to see right through him, only calmly asking after each speel “What else?”

The tenth time had broken him and he’d ended up barking out about the sentient little blob that had been in the Machine. He’d regretted that decision for a mere two seconds before the man to broke into a smile, his steady voice crooning “Ah… Yes. I have heard of something similar.”

Relief turned to skepticism when the stupid Nip was talking about something called a "surgery no tam she". Honestly, Joey didn’t get it at first. Mr. Hill was talking about a spirit who resided in ink stones or wells that were used over and over again, which would take on aspects of whatever it was used for. It was superstition, and frankly, Joey was quick to dismiss the claims of a Japanese ghost story. He had made this machine himself, not some magical being or blessed material, there was no way this could be a spirit. So he had directed Mr. Hill into the Ink Machine Room to work on the scattered pieces, and to quit this fantasy talk. At least he proved himself a competent mechanic, and an obedient man by not bringing up superstitions. It had taken a few hours, but Mr. Hill had put the entire machine back together and had even cleaned it so it was spotless of the ink from before.

But then the jap had pulled out a set of blue prints, unrolling them on a table for Joey to observe. “I hope you do not mind, sir. But I have found a way to make this machine a little better. It would process your ink much faster. And if something like before occurred? Well, it would not harm any sentient being made in the ink. In fact, it would help process them as well, making them into a full being.”

“And why on GOD’S green Earth would I want something like that roaming around my studio?” He was beyond skeptical and right into disbelieving. “The first one was a disaster on all fronts, I have no de-“

Mr. Hill put a hand on his shoulder, dark eyes alight with something he couldn’t quite name, but he had to admit fearing. “Wouldn’t you like having that very thing you drew over and over again running along your side?”

…..Bendy? The lil Dancing Demon truly off the page and at his side? Maybe even Boris and Alice and- …..

Hesitation stomped out his visions of fancy, and he shoved the man’s arm off of his shoulder. “What you are talking about is as fantastical as those ghost stories. You fixed my machine, I’ll write you a check, now LEAVE.” He pointed his cane towards the door, though any threat he’d wanted to make seemed to be pacified by Mr. Hill’s unshakeable smile and calm appearance.

“Very well. But please. Consider it.”

….

He had. Over a span of nine years, eight months, and approximately fifteen days. Not that he had counted, of course.

He had tried to move on. Animation was and always would be his passion, and he had tried to make lightning strike twice with Sillyvision Studios. He’d tried making other cartoon series, other little characters, and had animated the pilots for each of them.

_Charmain Angel._

_Mitchell and Michelle._

_Yesterday’s Today._

_Patty Cake and Friends._

_Back in the Storybook._

_Ginger and Lucille._

_Lucifer and Lucy._

_Out of the Clouds._

All of them. He had pages and pages of scripts, stories, ideas, concept art for each and every one. He had reels of promos and pilots that he’d painstakingly drawn in the studio. Each one had taken so long to finish, and even so, he knew his heart wasn’t in it. None of it sparked that drive or motivation in him. And apparently, it showed; everyone he had pitched the series to had shut it down. The ideas were recycled, there was nothing brand new in them. Using the animation style he wanted was going to cost too much money and it just wasn’t popular anymore. His studio’s failure and reputation had been the one thing to stand out, which made getting credit and help downright impossible. And honestly? Joey couldn’t argue that he had no desire to further these characters or make them popular. His heart, his passion… Remained with Bendy the Dancing Demon. He’d go back to doodling the little devil in the margins of his pages, sometimes vocalizing dialogue that would be fitting for him or Boris, and watching the old cartoons on projectors when he felt particularly upset.

But he knew no one else would pick up these characters again.

So a man outside of Hollywood asking for a year’s contract of Alice Angel’s likeness and name had struck him as odd. The royalties from the contract seemed abysmal, but…Honestly? No one wanted his characters, so he took what he could get. And wouldn’t you know it? Six months, that man had seven Alice Angel shorts showing. They’d even gotten Allison Pendle back to voice her. She had become an icon similar to Fleischer’s little singer, with merchandise and plaques and books and cartoons. She was so popular now, and he remembered Lawrence fondly saying before “she’ll be as popular as Bendy someday, just watch”.

Joey Drew got royalties worth pennies on the dollar.

How?? What had he done wrong?? He’d fucking MADE HER, CREATED HER, BROUGHT HER TO LIFE, AND THIS IS WHAT HE GOT?!?

WHY WAS HE OVERLOOKED??

…..

Why was what he made not good enough?

He’d poured his damn heart and soul into these cartoons and these characters. But it took someone else animating them and writing them out of character for them to be popular?

Why wasn’t what he did good enough?

And that’s when Mr. Murray Hill’s words came back to him. _Wouldn’t you like having that very thing you drew over and over again running along your side?_ It was fantastical, yes. But…. No one else would have what he could have. And his imagination was already coming up with scenarios. He could see going on stage of the Ed Sullivan Show with his three Creations, all of them bickering and playing like proper friends. He could see meeting other studios with Bendy the Dancing Demon and watching jaws drop just seeing the rubberhose animation as he was. Going to a church with Alice Angel and watching her teach a small Sunday School class while Bendy watched from outside and made faces at her. Boris finding real sheep and cuddling one when they didn’t run from him. Bendy going a tap routine on stage, and being so happy as flowers were thrown at his feet.

Beautiful, amazing ideas. And it was all possible, not impossible. He’d held that bubble of black ink in his hands and watched it pulse with a spark of life.

How he would love Bendy and Friends running by his side.

He picked up the phone, calling Murray Hill.

“Hello again, Mr. Drew. Have you finished considering my offer?” How he knew what to say and what Joey had been thinking, Joey didn’t know or particularly care. He was determined.

“Yes. …. What do you need for the Ink Machine?”

Mr. Hill chuckled on the other side of the line, and before Joey could bark out an insult, Mr. Hill had stopped. “I just need to survey the machine once more. And I would need your hand helping me out. Would you be available tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, yes. I live in the studio still, do you need the address?”

“No, but thank you. I look forward to seeing you once more, Mr. Drew.”

And come that next morning? It was like something out of a nightmare. Or a fairy tale. Murray Hill had come, hardly aged a day and wearing the same -or at least incredibly similar- clothes as he had when he’d come the first time. It only added to the unsettling air of the entire ordeal. Greetings were shared for only a moment, than the jap had headed back into the Ink Machine room. He’d expected him to take much longer than he did, but it had still scared him when the mechanic had come out with a giant knife in his hands.

“Thankfully, this is fairly cut and dry to complete. Unfortunately, with this kind of machine? It would take me a few weeks to work out the kinks. And if you want sole control over the ink and what it will create, you need to sacrifice something important to you.”

That had given Joey pause. Time to consider his options, to back out if needed. Or at least a chance to realize that once again, his dreams would be stopped. His plans falling away like a tower of cards. “What kind of sacrifice? …. I don’t have anything or anyone important like that. I never married, I have no kids… I don’t even have a pet. ….I have nothing to offer.”

“Everyone has something important. Something you cannot live without.” Murray Hill walked a little closer, the glint of the knife catching Joey’s eye for a second. “You are an artist, sir. What can you not live without?”

…..

The implication hit him like a bag of bricks, and Joey stared at his own hands before looking up at the impossibly threatening jap.

Would he be willing? To be good enough? To bring his Creations to life?

“What are you willing to sacrifice?” He asked again, his tone implying that he knew, but he needed the animator to out and say it.

Was making the fantastical real something he was willing to sacrifice everything for?

Nearly ten years ago, maybe not. But now?

…..

Love requires sacrifice.

Joey swallowed thickly, and held his hands out to Murray Hill. “Take my hands. And my eyes. I could never animate again without them…. Is this enough?”

Mr. Hill had only nodded, shaking his hand for the last time.

He’d been kind enough to give Joey something for the pain. He’d barely felt his hands becoming detached from his wrists. The eyes were more terrifying, but even then, it hadn’t hurt as much as he expected. And even when he could no longer see, and his hands were gone so he could not see by touch...

 

And then, something horrific happened. 

He heard Mr. Murray Hill leave. 

 

He'd tried to run and chase him, but his leg was hurting so badly, it made him fall to the floor. And without hands to catch himself, he fell face-first into the floor. It hurt. Everything hurt now....

He was trapped in his own body. His own personal Hell as he couldn't see and barely feel his way around his home. He fell down stairs more than once, his face becoming sore and no doubt bruised... He couldn't lift anything up anymore. He had only one fully functioning limb now, and by god he couldn't think with this pain. Even doing simple things that he took for granted, like drinking and eating and using the restroom, became Herculean tasks he could barely complete. He couldn't do anything but wander the halls like a deranged creature.... And worst part of all? 

He couldn't draw. 

 

He'd given it up. 

 

...

 

Three weeks seemed so long. He'd nearly lost track of the time, and was surprised when he heard Murray Hill's voice once more. Some attempt at an apology, but it was fake. Joey wanted nothing more than to scream, but his throat hurt too much for such an endeavor. 

"Now now now... I had to complete something first. Here... Let me show you."

With a loud clang, Joey heard the Ink Machine start up. It thrummed and purred with thick, viscous ink traveling through nearby pipes. Murray had led him to the machine, gently reassuring him before sticking the stumps of Joey's arms under what he later knew was the spigot. The ink spat from the machine, sticking to his arms and coagulating on his skin. It felt like a thick film was pulled up his arms, and weight returned to his stumps of wrists. With a bit more encouraging, Joey stuck his head under the spigot as well, shuddering from the feeling of something solid returning to his eye sockets.

It was almost worth the feeling of opening his eyes again. They felt watery and heavy, but he saw! He could see everything… It was like he hadn’t lost anything…. Well, except the perception of colors, but he worked with black and white, what was the difference seeing everything in that same way? And when he looked down, he saw his hands. Well, ink that had firmed up and dried into two moving hands, indistinguishable from what his true hands had looked like. Outside of the color of black ink, but he didn’t care.

This wasn’t a sacrifice to him. He gave his eyes and hands, and he got them back. He didn’t know how his eyes looked, but Murray Hill reassured him that his eyes looked exactly the same as before. It was reassuring, knowing only his hands looked so different. But even then, that could be covered up with gloves. 

No, his sacrifice was the time he spent blind and lacking in feeling. That had been torture... But, he supposed that was the price he needed to pay. 

It would be another three weeks before someone else came to the studio.

Murray Hill said that the Ink Machine was still being repaired, but he could use it. He could see how well making Creations would be....

He knew what he had to do. He wouldn’t like some of it. But maybe, just maybe, this could be done without more bloodshed. He didn’t need to kill to get these rituals right, he was sure of it. He just needed to get creative.

And he was an artist, he could do that in his sleep.

The letter had been sent. And now he could hear knocking at the front door, which he was quick to come up to and answer. “Ah. Hello Wally. It’s truly been a while, hasn’t it.”

The man before him chuckled a little, his stump of an arm reaching up to scratch the hair behind his temple. “Yeah, it has been. ….Honestly, I woulda just walked in but I couldn’t fin’ my ol’ keys.” There was a hint of guilt in that sentence, which Joey could understand. He had left after the accident and hadn’t looked back. Not that he could blame him. Never did. He’d left because he couldn’t work and he needed recovery. He hadn’t left to play hero in a war or because money was tight, or even because the pay wasn’t worth the work he’d put in. Joey could forgive him, and had. Wally shifted a little on his own cane, bringing the older man back to the present. “But, I was kinda shocked ta’ get your letter. It’s been what, ten years? How’d ya even find me, boss?”

“I just asked around is all.” He waved a gloved hand to the man, his smile turning more excited. “And there’s no need to call me your boss when I ain’t anymore. Now.” He held the door open, ushering Wally Franks into the studio with a grand sweep of his hand. “Lemme show you what I’ve been busy with.”


	10. Mistakes Cost Too Much Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He failed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((OKAY THIS IS GOING TO BE A BAD CHAPTER. Lots more body horror and gross descriptions in this chapter, so please prepare yourself. 
> 
> Any sympathy you might have had for Joey Drew? Feel free to toss that out the window now.
> 
> ALSO I'M VERY SORRY WALLY.))

“Lemme show you what I’ve been busy with.”

“Ah… Alrigh’ then.” Wally offered a smile, and stepped over the threshold of the studio doors. I have to admit, it was strange, seeing him after so long. His limbs were still impossibly long for his body, and his face had hardly changed at all. It was just the extra wrinkles and faded freckles that seemed different, and the curve of his spine that was more pronounced than before. And… Well, the obvious lack of a forearm and hand on his right side. But even so, his visible disabilities didn’t seem to hinder him at all. He strode with that cane in his single hand, and hid his other arm against his side. If I didn’t know better, I would’ve assumed his hand was simply in a pocket.

I started to lead him to the Ink Machine room, trying to be as cautious as possible. But, as much as I wanted to immediately lead into why I’d wanted Wally here, I couldn’t. Poor bastard looked terrified just looking at the machine, and I couldn’t even blame him. This machine wasn't completely finished yet, but the design was outwardly the same. So, this would have to be a slow lead. I pulled out a chair at the small table I had set up earlier, offering the opposite seat to Wally. My gloves made it a little slippery to pick up the pot of coffee on the table, but I managed to fill the two mugs at least. “So, tell me. How have things been for you?”

Seemed like a good start. And Wally seemed to relax at the distracting question at least, so that helped as well. And it got him to pull out the chair and sit down. “Oh it’s been good… It’s… Well… It’s been a ride.” Oh? That was disconcerting. Again, ten years was a long time, but Wally still remained a terrible liar who wore his heart on his sleeve. Just because his stutter was practically nonexistent didn’t mean it was hard to tell when something upset him.

“Well, we got the time.” I pushed a mug of coffee toward him, taking my own mug in my hands and sipping it. “I’d love knowing what you’ve done.”

Wally seemed to still be hesitant, but he’d at least set his cane to the side and took a few gulps of his coffee. Good. He hadn’t noticed. Hell, he even licked his lips and smiled, setting the half-full mug back down on the table. “Well. Got married for one. Found this sweet gal from New York named Margie O’Neil, and we got all settled.”

“Oh my God.” Well. That was unexpected. But I still rose my mug to him, genuinely praising him. I’d honestly never pegged him for the type to settle down and get married. “Congratulations then.”

“Thanks… I guess.” His tone turned somber, and I knew I hit a sensitive topic without meaning to. Yet he continued. “She was a spectacular gal. Never treated me different for being short a hand and hard’a walking. Hell, she pushed me to work as a park clerk, and it did wonders for my leg. ….She just passed on last year.”

“Oh…..  Oh wow, I’m so sorry, Wally.”

“’Ts a’ight. You didn’t know. ….She’s in a better place now anyway.  I had good years with her.” His smile was soft, and that churning in the pit of my stomach that was certainly not guilt seemed to settle at his peace. He was certainly at ease… But maybe that was influence of the coffee. “She gave me three beautiful little girls too.” Shit. Shit shit shit, he had kids- “Had to move back with me ma and brother to help take care of them though.” Oh thank god.

“Ya got pictures?”

“Oh yeah, hang on….” He shifted in his chair, and pulled out a small leather bifold in his hand before handing it to me. It was almost surreal opening up the leather and finding a picture of three young girls with Wally’s curly hair. Two of them were identical outside of one wearing a white ribbon and the other a black ribbon, and the third looked so much younger and small in a baptism dress. “The twins are Molly and Mary, and the lil one’s…” He stopped for a second to snicker, face turning a bit red before admitting “Alice. The lil one’s Alice.”

Ah. So he must have been reminded of her because of the shorts that con man had made. Still made me chuckle as I handed the wallet back. “Wonder where that name came from.”

“It was sent from above.”

…..

That was enough to get both of us to laugh a bit, but Wally tittered out much quicker than I did, sipping at his coffee again. “You should meet them. The girls would love ya.” I highly doubted that… But Wally was always so considerate. It would make this a little harder before it got easier.

“I’d like that.”

The silence stretched for a moment while Wally finished his mug of coffee and I drank down slow sips of mine. Wally shook his head, curls shaking a moment as he smacked his lips. “Man… Dregs were thick on the bottom of that one.”

“Yeah, sorry about that. You want some more? Pot’s still fresh.”

“….Yeah, why not?” He pushed his mug forward, which I happily filled back up. “….Meant to ask, but what’s with the gloves? It’s a little hot out for those, ain’ it?”

Now that I had a practiced explanation for. “Got some bad burns on my hands a few weeks ago. Doctor said they’ll heal up fine, but it helps keeping them covered and such.” Wally accepted it without question, so I didn’t need to elaborate any. I was so glad he’d finished the second mug rather quickly. He was already feeling the effects of ink if that sedate look was anything to go by. And when Wally’s mouth hung open, I could see the slight stain on his tongue. “Sorry about the heat… Can’t afford much air for this place.” Maybe that lead would convince him the nausea and fever he felt was from the heat, not the coffee.

“…Nah, it’s alright.” He waved his hand at me, shaking his head once more like the motion would clear it. He was always so animated, I’m glad that never really changed. “…Here I am, talking about me. What have you been doing, Joey?”

Ah. Here it was…. My lead. “I’ve been doing a lot. ….Can’t even say I did the Alice Angel shorts, though. Some shmuck bought the rights for her and has been messing her up bad. I’m surprised that Allison's gone along with it, honestly. …I was trying to make other cartoon series, but none of them picked up like Bendy and Friends ever did.” Wally gave a small nod, his hand resting on his chin. I knew that motion; it was to physically hold his mouth shut. He’d done that before and damn was he predictable. “So, I made adjustments to the Ink Machine. Had the help of Hill… He helped me so much these last few years. Grant would be jealous I think.”

Wally’s body jolted before I could say anything else, and he fell from his chair to cower on the floor. Here we go….

I got up from my own chair, kneeling beside him and patting his back. “Whatcha feeling, Wally?”

Wally couldn’t answer me, coughing out wet coughs and seizing with each breath.

“Just relax. It’ll be over in a minute.” I kept patting his back, up until he slumped to the ground. Good. The ink had made him a little sick, but he was out. Now for the harder part. “Sorry I gotta put you back in the machine, kid. But this won’t hurt a bit.” I know he couldn’t hear me, but it felt right reassuring him otherwise.

See… I wanted to bring the characters to life. To do so? You needed to have the closest living equivalent in the machine. It would transfer the life from the real life person right to the imaginary cartoon. Otherwise, it would be another slug-like creature. Like the creature I found pushing itself out of the Ink Machine. And while I really, really wanted Bendy to be the first?

I needed to play safe and make Boris first.

Boris the Wolf was human in height. He wouldn’t be off model like the vertically challenged Bendy. Being anthropomorphic helped as well, it would be easier testing this on a simple character with a design more logically fitting to a human. And I didn’t want to risk Alice just yet… Especially since I needed to get her personality down better. Allison had almost ruined her character, and I needed to be sure which human voice actress would work for her.

But Wally Franks.... He would work for now. I'm so sure this was who Boris was based off of. From the silly accent to those dumb overalls to his wild way of movement that was stolen by the first Ink Machine…. I’d seen animators watch Wally from the hallways, base the wolf’s movements off of Wally’s own. The man had been so happy-go-lucky, so happy and free before… He had to be the closest living thing to Boris the Wolf!

Maybe his girls would like having a cartoon for a dad. I know I would’ve.

I grabbed his arms, carefully dragging him to the prepped machine. It was a pain opening the top once more and pushing the collection of limbs and dead weight into the machine. For a slight man, he was certainly heavy when knocked out. But he floated in the ink of the machine, and I made sure that he was safe before closing and shutting the lid. This wasn’t going to hurt him. It was just going to alter his body. Make him into a cartoon. Boris the Wolf and Wally Franks were going to share a singular body, then Boris would have his very own!

I quickly ran around the studio, grabbing the tributes from a single desk drawer and placing them on the pedestals. Hopefully the machine would activate without a hitch. Each tribute was set in its place, and I slammed the switch on before running back to the Ink Machine.

It was all going to plan. The Ink Machine started to pump and thrum with mechanical life, gears rotating and turning around the spigot. There was a slight grinding sound, but nothing so terrible. It was going to work! And I’d be here to watch it.

And in an instant, it went horribly wrong. It started grinding something. Something huge and thick and-

 

….No…

 

NOT AGAIN.

 

DON'T HURT HIM AGAIN.

 

“NO!!”

I hit the machine on instinct, then tried to look for the emergency off switch while I had time and OH GOD THE GRINDING, MAKE IT STOP!!

I couldn’t find the switch.... Where had Hill put it??

 

The grinding stopped.

 

The spigot was pulsing.

 

My heart was in my throat, and I felt ink settle heavily in my chest. What… exactly had happened? There was supposed to be no bloodshed… He-…. Why?

The spigot pulsed once more, and a thick bubble of ink was forcing its way out of the nozzle.

OH THANK GOD.

Maybe, just maybe, the….grinding had been necessary… I had given up my real hands and eyes and ink replaced them seamlessly, maybe that was all it was! I was just over-reacting….

The thick balloon of ink grew inch by inch, falling to the floor with a loud thud. It was hard to watch it descend and dilute into a puddle on the ground… And downright terrifying watching two arms reach out, grabbing the edges of the puddle. The motion was like a swimmer coming up for air, so I tried to stay calm… Watch for who came out of that puddle.

“….Wally?” …… “Boris?” …..

Why wasn’t it answering?

It tried to pull itself up more, but that wasn’t anything I drew. It was an amalgamation of ink and a human torso, mouth open and gasping for air. And it was pulling itself along the wood… Its head turned up to me, and I knew right then and there something was wrong.

So much was wrong.

This wasn’t what I wanted.

Not at all.

“Wah-….Wally…..”

The creature opened something resembling a mouth, groaned… And then started to pull itself out of the room.

….Where did I go wrong??

WhAT DID I DO??

That thing….SEARCHING FOR SOMETHING…. It wasn’t human and certainly not a cartoon!!!

I ran to the phone, jabbing in the number for Murray Hill. So much was a blur as I spoke through panicked breath and shaking teeth and GUILT. So much guilt at what I did, why did this happen the way it had??

…..

Turns out… Heh. I wasn't the only one wrong.

Murray had sounded disappointed. That the loss of a human life and transmuting it into this mindless creature was a mere inconvenience. "I guess I have to go back to the drawing board" he said.  

But I should've known better. Murray had said it with such conviction I had to sit down. Then, he decided to explain to me my multiple mistakes. The catalyst the machine needed wasn’t just ink. It needed blood. Ink for the  cartoon and blood to make it real as flesh was. That was my first mistake. And as for why Wally came out as he did?

“It would appear to me that he isn’t the closest living relation to your character. You were supposed to get the living inspiration for the character. You failed.”

What an understatement. I failed.

Wally, once again, paying for my mistakes.

….

Looks like I have to study up a little more before I try this again.

Mistakes cost too much. The loss of Wally's life was proof of that. 


	11. Playing Hero

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry gets drafted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Oh man this was a roller coaster of emotion... I had to revisit Chapter One of Lost Black Sheep as well.
> 
> I'd just like to say that some of Joey's dialogue was taken from this amazing comic by SquigglyDigg (https://squigglydigg.tumblr.com/post/161760499721/). IT REALLY STUCK WITH ME and made this more heartwrenching to write.))

It was Wednesday. He really, really hated Wednesdays. Mostly because of self-inflicted issues, but still.

See, Wednesdays were the days that Joey Drew went over the week expenses. His family’s money and inheritance were keeping this afloat, and he really wanted to be sure they didn’t have to beg for loans or extra credit. A noble goal…. But Joey had a hell of a time with numbers. Keeping track of expenses was a pain and a half to do, with only half of the departments keeping track of what they bought and even fewer writing everything down. And…admittedly he didn’t do math well. All the tutors that had been hired when he was younger could never seem to understand how hard it was for him to grasp the vague concept of putting numbers together to make a single one. Or how reading it out confused the hell out of him -frankly whoever came up with the idea of writing numbers two different ways should be shot. Or resurrected and shot. Every last one of them called him lazy when he couldn’t finish a section of times-tables or a worksheet that required doing numbers in your head. Apparently “lazy” was staying up past midnight most nights trying to finish those damned worksheets.

He thought this was easier though. He didn’t need to do math in his head, he just needed to write it out. And that was actually helpful to everyone involved because the banks and accountants could see exactly where the numbers were going. He still hated it though.

And his mood was not lifted when he heard the shave-and-a-haircut knock at his office door. And the ginger peeking through the door with a sheepish expression. Oh he wanted to knock that look off his face…. “What’s the problem, Franks?”

“Well, Mister Drew… I lost my keys again and I can’t fin’ Mistah Ross any-“

Whatever the paddy had been about to say was interrupted by Joey barking. “DAMMIT, FRANKS!! YOU THINK I’M MADE OF GREEN??” Without realizing it, he’d picked up his own coffee mug and threw it across the room. The only reason it missed the lanky bastard was because Wally Franks was a spry man and ducked. But the flying mug had still hit someone in its flight path, given the loud yelp and thud to the floor. But Joey had no energy to calm down, only to be mad. “FIND YOUR DAMN KEYS, OR YOU’RE CANNED! GOT IT??”

“Y-yes’r!!” The paddy nodded furiously before ducking and closing the door again. Though he seemed to miss the fact that someone had fallen behind him, so Joey could hear another set of yells and a heavy thud on the floor.

“Ow….”

“Christ on a bike, Wally, watch where ya goin’!”

It was followed fairly quickly by the front door closing, and the sound of Sammy Lawrence’s own smoothed-out tone. “Alright Wally, what’s eatin’ Joey this time?” Oh good… Sammy was here. That meant that the band would be playing downstairs. The prospect of this shit Wednesday being made at least a little better by Sammy’s Lawrence’s compositions sweetened his sour mood.

He really needed to work on his temper. That much was certain. But first, he needed to finish these damn books.

A few hours had to have passed by the time he was finally finished, tucking the books back into a locked desk drawer. The band rehearsing and recording downstairs gave the entire studio a calming ambience, where even the small breaks and repeating melodies were not enough to disturb the tranquility of the wooden studio. Just like the first time he’d heard Sammy Lawrence play on the street, the man’s music had this insane ability to alter his mood in the best of ways. It was never done on purpose or with ill intent, but the effects were still something that Joey appreciated. Especially since he was not the only one who enjoyed the music and its calming effects. The animators, the editors, the writers…. The theater execs and TV producers…. And most importantly, the audience the cartoons were played to.

He let his mind start to wander with the music, images of little skits or animations dancing through his mind’s eye. He did need to get down to the writing department today as well… Maybe he and Henry would be able to come up with a good pitch for the writers to run with. No sooner had he thought about the man did he heard soft knocking on his office door.

Speak ‘a the devil.

“Hey Henry. I was just about to look for ya.” He started to sit up in his chair, smile already growing on his face before he noticed Henry’s own.

For a rather stoic man…. He made his expressions and his few words have weight. And the look of absolute dread and apprehension on Henry Ross’s… It was gut-wrenching. Joey immediately sat up, pulling himself to his feet. “Henry? What’s wrong?” He needed to go over and reach his friend, his friend shouldn’t look so distraught…

Henry hardly moved, swallowing heavily before he looked down at the paper. “…Got this in the mail this mornin’. Could hardly come in today but… But I needed to let you know, Joey.” Without much else to add, he’d reached out his hand to offer the letter to Joey. Whatever was written on it had to be bad… Wasn’t his family back west, Henry would’ve out and said it. The tension just seemed to be rising with each second, so Joey snatched the damn letter and started to read it.

 

> _ORDER TO REPORT FOR INDUCTION_
> 
> _The President of the United States,_
> 
> _To Henry Elias Ross_

Oh…

His stomach sank the more he read this single letter. He could see why Henry was so distraught…. Goddamn… He’d even told Henry it was a bad idea to sign up at the office…. He hadn’t bothered with his bad leg, and while Sammy had tried to sign up, he’d been rejected… But Henry… HENRY was being DRAFTED??

“W-…What’re ya sayin’, Henry? Wh-what do you-…” His hands were shaking so badly, and he dared a look up to Henry’s face. ….No. No no no…. Henry… Henry was an artist, he wasn’t good with the kind of hard work like what the army required. And…. He knew his own father. Lt. Colonel Drew had been drafted but… He liked it! Said he was proud to have served. Oh wow everything was getting off-kilter, he could’ve sworn he saw Henry smirk.

Oh… Oh it was a prank… “Ohh, I get it! It’s a JOKE, right? Yer pullin’ my LEG!” He looked at the paper again, choked laughter escaping his throat as he looked it over again. Wow… Just wow. This was a good one. This really was an elaborate prank. He patted the desk as he laughed again, shaking his head slightly. “HA HA!! A joke! I get it now!”

Everything felt so off-center to him, and Joey could see Henry try to reach for him. But he wasn’t done yet. He just looked at the single paper in front of him, shocked at the quality this prank had gone to. God, he’d thought it was real at first…. The hysterics were starting to give way to something else. Henry knew how he felt about stuff like this. He couldn’t handle loosing someone else to the service and its aftereffects. “But see… Henry? Thing is, if yer jokin’?” Joey pushed himself to stand on both feet, smashing the letter in his hands until it resembled a ball, throwing it at Henry’s feet. “That’s a LOUSY JOKE.”

Henry’s face shifted to one of pure shock, and Joey immediately knew he’d said the wrong thing. So he tried to save it. “I mean… It’s-… It’s gotta be… I mean, really Henry… This is gone on too far. You can stop this prank now…” But Henry merely crouched down, picking the letter back up and trying to un-crumple it. Even smooth it out so he could read the words again if needed.

“It… It ain’t a joke, Joey.” The hurt in his tone nearly made Joey fall over. He’d really messed this up. He’d… He’d……

“Okay… Okay. It’s fine. You don’t have to go.” He saw Henry turn to face him, and before he could even get a word out, Joey was at it again. “I mean… You don’t have to. You could just tell them you were arrested for something… Like Sammy Wes was. Something like… Hell, I don’t know, but we can figure out something! Or… Or just not show? I can keep watch of your place, keep your folks in the loop… I know prison isn’t the best option, but hell, I can pay your fine for you an-“

“Joey! Listen to yourself!” Henry set the letter back on the desk, taking a few steps closer to Joey, who merely backed up with each step. Henry got the hint quickly, stopping in his tracks. “I can’t just…Lie!! They’d find out I was a draft dodger! And I can’t ask you to do any of that for me. The fine would be too much, even for you… I-… I have to go, Joey. I can’t avoid this…”

The silence stretched out between them for longer than either really expected. And when Henry tried to break it, Joey beat him to the punch. “Liar.”

“W-……what?”

“You heard me.” Joey’s voice was cold, sharp, and angry as he felt. “You can avoid this. I just listed off a buncha’ ways you could. But you won’t listen to me. No… You want to go.”

Henry held up his hands in defeat, lost at this…bizarre way Joey was acting. He just went from denial to bargaining and now to anger, and he couldn’t keep track of it all. “Joey, no. I don’t. I don’t want to be a soldier, especially not now, but-“

“No. Quit lying to me you damned idiot!” Joey’s voice was getting louder the more his mind rationalized what was going on, leading to one very misguided truth. “You just want to play hero, DON’T YOU?!” That’s all it was…. That’s why he wasn’t fighting this draft. Why he was willing to leave the studio, leave him and Sammy with everything while he galivanted off, only to come back a man who would eventually blame everyone and everything else for his problems. “YOU WANT TO GO OFF!! YOU COULD FIGHT IT. Let me help you fight it, you damn moron!”

He could see Henry backing up, and assumed his words were backing the other into a literal and metaphorical corner. So he just needed to push a little more. “JUST SAY NO. JUST NOT SHOW UP. There’s others who need you here more than a bunch’a strangers who don’t know ya from Adam! Not just me either! You could do more here and we could make it big and-“

“FUCKING EASY FOR YOU TO SAY, YOU RICH SONVABITCH WHO CAN’T WALK STRAIGHT!”

That was enough to make Joey speechless.

But he'd gotten Henry started. This man was a patient one, but when he was angry, he let everything out...

"LINDA FUCKING DIED WHILE I WAS WORKING HERE! And for a man of ideas, YOU seem to THINK that YOU can TAKE EVERYTHING I GIVE YOU!"

He-…. Oh wow, Joey could feel the hysterics coming back. The urge to laugh despite the anger and the sheer overwhelming helplessness to do anything else. Henry. He’d never talked to him like this. Never pitied him. Hell, convinced him he was bigger than this disability because he knew of F.D.R. And this is what he really thought about him? Already, that damn draft was twisting his friend into something cruel and angry.

He’d picked up his chair without a second thought, throwing it at Henry. He needed something to hurt, so it would have to be this…BASTARD. The bastard at least had the sense to look scared at the flying chair, bringing his arms to block it from hitting his face. But it wasn’t enough for Joey. “MAY NOT WALK STRAIGHT, BUT I CAN FUCKIN’ THROW!” He had to hold the desk before he fell, and he could see Henry holding his arms close to his chest. “WELL GO ON THEN.” He threw a hand to the door fiercely, his voice booming with an almost physical weight. He couldn’t care if everyone in the studio heard him. “GO BE A GODDAMN HERO. But you BETTER take that damn letter inta’ consideration, Ross. Cuz I sure as Hell not letting you back if you manage to come back in one ‘r two pieces. GO OFF AND DIE LIKE A GOOD MAN.”

He couldn’t see Henry’s face for how he’d reacted, the man had already turned around and was out the door. Even slamming it closed for good measure and making the picture frames on his office walls shake. And though it was softer, he could hear the resounding slam of the front studio doors. The sound was enough to make him lean over his desk, trying desperately to catch his breath. He wanted to scream more, or hide, or punch something… Maybe throw something. Set that damn recruitment office on fire. They didn’t deserve to take away more people… There were so many men in this damn country, why couldn’t they stick with the soldiers they already had??

He’d almost missed the taps on the door and Sammy coming in. He looked downright terrified, but still curious enough to ask a simple question. “What’s goin’ on?”

“…..Henry got drafted.” Joey spat it out, immediately pulling himself to his feet by holding onto his desk.


	12. Almost Terrifying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The gore doesn't scare him anymore, the ink monster does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((Warning for mentions of dead bodies and death. Honestly though, the last half is more vivid because of memory altering and a character showing signs of something similar to dementia.))

He never meant to hurt Wally Franks. He really didn’t. But the fact he’d hurt the man still weighed heavily on his mind. As did the fact that… Well. The ritual didn’t work. He’d messed up. And now Wally Franks was nothing more but a puddle on the ground. Quite literally at that. But… The man had been worth his weight in gold in just how useful he was, and that part didn’t change despite being an inky monstrosity now. And he was so, so useful.

Five years had passed since he’d invited Wally here, the machine accidentally turning him into this forever-searching creature. He wouldn’t say “monster”, because the thing that Wally was too docile for such a term. Monsters were beings who attacked with no regard of the consequences. Monsters were ugly, awful beings that cared only for themselves. By that vein, Joey Drew could admit he was the only true monster in this studio.

Whatever Wally Franks had been turned into was more along the lines of a simple “creature”. He’d pull himself with two full arms down hallways, looking more and more like he was pacing without legs. Joey didn’t find the sight of the creeping inky body strange in the slightest, but did find it curious that Wally’s right hand had come back after a few months. Small blessings, Joey assumed. And after a year or so, Wally had begun to pull himself out of the ink puddles just a bit more. He’d slide along hallways with a slumped back and shuffled feet, which Joey was quick to attribute to the man’s horribly curved spine when he was still human. ….He didn’t think Wally Franks was still human, but the illusion of living was strong at least.

Joey had started to lock himself up in the studio, isolating himself from the outside world. He didn’t like the real world, with its constant wars and anger. It was distracting from the kind of world he was making in the studio. Talking with the creature known as Wally helped here and there, even if the only response he got back was gurgles and groans. And he needed to stay sane when he told Wally to drag bodies to the Ink Machine.

True to Murray Hill's unspoken word, he'd gone back to the drawing board and redesigned the entire machine. Almost six months after Wally became this searching creature, Hill had returned, locked himself in the studio as well, and went to work. Joey hadn't seen hide or hair of the man for almost three days, and had been nervous that the man had disappeared into thin air once more. But he'd reappeared after those three days. The updated Ink Machine churning away in his office....

There was a catch with this one though. It needed blood and bodies. Lots of it. 

There… There was no way around it. If he wanted to bring his cartoons -Bendy, Boris, and Alice- into this realm of existence? There needed to be a lot of blood. Nearly as much as there was ink. And that wasn’t taking into consideration the fact he needed the ink himself to stay…whole. And to keep Wally here. Blood was required, and far more than five liters of it.

So, he sent out letters. He’d pulled out old books from his locked desk drawer, finding the addresses of anyone and everyone who had worked in the studio, writing them letters. He’d saved a few of the more important ones for later, but he’d found a lot of the musicians. Caleb, Johnny, Kyle, Will, Nina, Hailey…. So many still lived close by, and had come when the letters found them, inviting them to the studio. Some of them ran in the studio… Trying to escape like rats in a drain. The only one who had made any headway was Johnny, who had hidden himself behind the organ in a small room. Course, he’d been no match for the Ink… But Joey felt compelled to leave his body behind the organ once he was done draining blood into the machine.

….Heh. Wow.

He’d been so concerned, so afraid with Wally. Even with himself and how lucky he’d gotten with the first Machine. The idea of a broken bone used to scare him, and finding a dead body in his youth would’ve terrified him from leaving his home. And here he was, draining bodies of blood before throwing them away… It was hard to continuously make coffins after all. And Wally seemed to act like a janitor again, cleaning up blood and messes without complaint. Just like he'd sweep a hallway or wipe down a window. It was just so commonplace now, inviting victims here, killing them, draining their blood into the machine, and dumping their bodies. 

Commonplace.

When had he become so heartless? Why did things like this… The horrors he was willingly doing and putting others through not faze him?

Maybe it was because he knew it would be worth it in the end.

All the sacrifices would be worth what would be put on screen. And while that seemed like a selfish goal -and he had to admit it was- it wasn’t as shallow as that… His cartoons would be on screen, and they would touch every person who watched. From the person who had watched it “because it was on”, to the most devoted fan who cried when a new show was on, to even the younger ones who watched it and had the characters shape their own perception or personality. It was worth being remembered in some way, shape, or form. He may not be remembered for his accomplishments or story, and honestly he didn’t mind, his story was not an entertaining one or a thought-provoking one. If he was simply remembered as “the man behind Bendy”, that would suit him fine. Because at the end of it all, he was pouring his heart, his soul, his sanity, his sweat and tears into this sweet character and his friends.

Would he have done things differently? Most definitely. But hindsight was not helpful and neither was guilt. He would always say yes to that deal that Mr. Hill offered to him. Because he was going to make something of himself, and it was going to be amazing.

 Sitting at his desk, he realized that he would need more…. More everything. More money, for one. More help with the mechanical aspects of the Ink Machine. More bodies…

A small sound brought him out of his thoughts. A thick huff of something outside his door. Had someone snuck in?

With a heavy sigh, Joey picked himself from his chair, using a cane to walk over to his door. And the closer he got, the more he recognized the sound as actual words. Or, at least attempts at words. _“Mar-…Margie… Mar…gret…..Mahl-….Molllll….Moll….Molly….Mmmm…..Mmmmaaarrrr…Marrry…. Mary……..Too mmmmmany Mmmmary’s…. mmMMAry Olive……….Mmmmarrry Anna……Molly… Mary….Aaaa-…AaaaHHHHH……..Aaaaalll….Allllice…….Alice… Alice Haaaahhhh… Alice Holly……”_

….Was….Was Wally still in there? This was the first time he’d heard something concrete out of the creature in two years. He slowly opened the door, looking around the door jamb. Sure enough, the tall being dripping in ink was curled around something… A leather bifold.

The creature was holding it tightly, near shaking in some kind of emotion. _“I…..d-don’t….I….”_ He stood immediately, keeping the wallet to his chest as he spoke with surprising clarity. _“I gotta gET ouTTA HEre!”_ But no sooner had the creature stomped down the hallway did it stop in its tracks once more. _“…I-….Why?... Where am…Where are th-…”_   He pulled down the wallet once more, inky fingers tracing over the protected pictures inside. _“….Margie…. The girls…. Th-they’ll be sssso frightened!! I c-c-c-can’t wwwooork thisss late!”_   He’d pulled down the wallet to what constituted as  his hips, searching for a pocket or something to place it in. _“Alice needs ‘er dinner and Molly ‘n Mary need their….stories?”_

How curious… Joey stepped beyond his door, cautiously walking up to the confused ink being. “You okay there?”

The being turned to him, and just like that, the recognition was gone. _“I….I d-d-don’t… Know……I…I should be going home now…”_   He was lying, Joey could tell. But then again, if he was stuck in a place he didn’t recognize with a stranger asking him things, he’d lie too. _“I gotta… I gotta get outta here!”_  The being continued to back up, the wallet slipping from his grasp.

“Hold it!” Joey called out in a more friendly manner, leaning down to pick up the stray wallet. “Ya dropped your wallet.”

 _“Oh… Sorry abou’ that….”_ The creature reached out, taking the wallet with his right hand before holding it close. “Thanks!” And with that, the creature had took off for the stairs.

.... He had a lot more to discuss with Mr. Murray Hill.

Once he was in his office, he'd picked up the receiver and dialed the mechanic's number. Once the man answered, he'd barely gotten out a "Hello" before Joey started to bark at him. "MURRAY! This has gone on long enough. ... This machine is not worth it. It isn't worth all the lives and bodies that fuel it. .... I don't care if you don't give me my hands or eyes back anymore, but this can't sustain what's left of Mr. Franks and I. Especially since you never guaranteed me that this would make proper characters!!" 

There was a short pause on the line, and Joey had readied himself for a verbal battle. Not for Murray's calm voice to ask "Oh? You haven't seen the character in the basement?"

...

The basement?

"...No. I haven't......" The basement? He hardly went down there. It was so hard to go down there in the first place, and he didn't like being reminded of the failed merchandising that he'd tried to push.

Murray Hill chuckled, but there was no pleasant tone in it. In fact, it made the hairs on the back of Joey's neck rise like a cat's. Something was wrong. "Well... I'd suggest going down there, but you might need some company. I shall be there within the hour, if you don't mind waiting." 

It wasn't a request. It was a thinly veiled demand. But God, if Joey couldn't help but be terrified by the implication. So he meekly replied "I don't.... I'll.... I'll see you soon." After hanging up the phone, he'd sunk into his chair. What was hidden in his basement? He didn't want to be scared of his own home, but the very idea that something sinister was hiding in the depths of his own home was unsettling at least and mortifying at best. 

The hour stretched on for much, much longer than he wanted. But Murray Hill had finally arrived, his legs making long strides over small puddles or broken wood planks. The man's expression was infuriating to Joey; he looked like he was in on some joke at Joey's expense. It was far too familiar a look for the animator. But after the typical pleasantries, Murray had suggested they take the lift to the lowest level in the building. It'd taken some time for them to get to the right elevator, with Joey's leg violently acting up, but they'd made it. 

As they stood in the small, watching the floors pass in front of them, the Japanese man spoke. "I am surprised I forgot to tell you about this. Though I suppose better sooner rather than later." He brushed off the front of his chest, ignoring the glare that Joey was giving him. "While I was working on the Ink Machine? Those three days? ... A man snuck into the studio." Joey couldn't help a small gasp, looking to Murray. Had he ratted him out?? 

"Do not worry. It was someone who used to work here. He called himself... Norman Polk. Said that he was the projectionist... Used to work as a music director later on." 

He should've felt shock. Some kind of surprise that Norman Polk had slipped in without him knowing. But instead, he felt a strange sort of relief. It was someone he knew... But that moment of relief was replaced by the grip of anxious apprehension. Why had Norman come here??

"He said something about looking for Mr. Wally Franks."

Joey placed a hand over his stomach as it churned. He did NOT like the way this conversation was going.... He didn't like any of this. 

As the elevator stopped with a sudden lurch, the doors loudly wrenching themselves open, Joey couldn't bring himself to step over the threshold of the lift. 

Something was wrong. And Murray Hill's actions were not helping that innate feeling of "wrongness". He was far too calm and pleased with himself. The calm man walked out of the lift, stepping to the guard rails and leaning against the wooden pieces. He was looking for something... Honestly, the actions reminded Joey of when he was younger, watching children his age leaning against rails and cages at a zoo. Which made him all the more nervous as what qualified as a wild animal down here. 

Despite his churning stomach, despite his better judgement, and despite the urge to slam a button on the lift and escape, he took twelve uneasy steps to the repairman. He had to lean against the guard rail for support as his leg flared in pain. The anticipation was nearly suffocating him; something was wrong, wrong, wrong and he didn't know what that "something" was. As he looked to the floor of the basement, he was surprised to see a few inches of ink pooling the floor. Not an easy task, given how wide and large the floor plan in this room was. And the dim light made it all the more ominous to view the floor. 

And then he saw a bouncing light. It looked like a person walking with a flashlight. 

Once the figure came into view, Joseph Bartholomew Drew felt his heart stop. 

It looked like a human. It had the proper figure for a human from the neck down. But the head was replaced by a piece of machinery. After a few seconds, he recognized it as one of the old projectors from upstairs. But he couldn't distinguish a face... Surely if this was a character, it needed to have a face....

"Don’t you worry though, Mr. Drew. Mr. Polk has been taken care of. And as you can see, the new Ink Machine is much, much more functional in what we need."

He couldn't believe his ears. He held a hand over his mouth as the weight of it all dropped on his shoulders. Murray's hand on his back barely registered; he was far too focused watching the strange creature walk from one hallway to the next. 

Just like Wally... He had to have gone through the Ink Machine... This was what it was capable of?

Plenty of people at SillyVision said that Norman Polk was the epitome of a projectionist. Quiet, always there, sulking.... And now? He was that exact character. 

This is what the second Ink Machine could do.....

He... He needed to believe. He needed to. Norman... Norman was proof it was possible! And Wally was proof it could go so, so wrong if he wasn't careful. 

He just needed to believe....

If he believed enough, he could cheat death and bring them back. 

A silly thought... But a comforting one. 

Because he needed to bring them back... Or at least, make what happened to them worthwhile. 


	13. Promise?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He brought these toons to life. 
> 
> He lost one, but he tried to save the other.

After he’d brought Bendy to life, he’d gotten straight to work and brought Boris and Alice as well. Or, at least to this plane of existence. They weren’t truly alive yet. They were like the ink monsters in this building: sentient and made completely of ink. The only difference being that the cartoons had their original personalities, appearances, and were filled to the brim with life. Oh they were such sweet individual characters. Even if Bendy was a mischievous troublemaker, he’d always have a soft spot for the lil’ demon. Boris was a little more clumsy, playfully bickering with everyone around him and brushing off any taunts with a bright smile. Alice was more focused on her singing and her appearance, but was always ready with a sharp word to cut Bendy down to size or reprimand him for a prank. Joey was always pulled into their antics, be it a small prank or gag, and he played along with them. In return, the cartoons were helping him. Or... Well, this was helping him help them. It’d taken the work of a projector, an actual movie camera, and a few backgrounds that Joey had drawn. Well, far more than that, but that was the physical part of it.

Joey would write down an episode or short for _Bendy and Friends_ , then pencil down a script for the toons to follow. They would spend a few days with the script while Joey did a few backgrounds as sets. Then, magic would happen when he’d set up the projector with the appropriate backgrounds, and the toons would literally jump onto the screen. They’d interact with the backgrounds like a theater troupe would with a live set. And Joey was there, recording the whole thing on a camera. When they were done, he’d shoo the toons away to a different section of the studio while he worked on editing the recording.

It certainly was a different way of doing animation, but Joey was determined to get  _Bendy and Friends_ off the ground once more with this reboot. They had a pilot and two whole episodes ready! All that was left was to do this last episode, then pitch it to a TV station. Then they would be in business! There'd be money -legit money and not the counterfeits he'd had to print over the last few years just to pay bills- and recognition. That would get this studio back on the map, and then? Once the rituals were complete and the toons could leave the studio? Joey Drew would be a household name, alongside Bendy's. 

Of course, something went wrong. Something just had to go wrong.

Alice had just disappeared.

Joey had tried looking alongside Bendy and Boris, no stone unturned in the studio and no door untouched. He’d even checked the Ink Machine, terrified that she may have fallen in or something. But nothing… The three of them must have searched for hours, with Bendy and Boris both exhausted at the end of it and collapsing into a pile on the floor. It was almost adorable if not for the circumstances. Joey still trooped on, making his way to the Music Department. He’d found Wally Franks first, just inside the Utility Shaft. It was hard to be patient with this man, but in the spur of the moment, some help was better than none. “Franks! Have you seen anyone come down here?” The inky man predictably jumped in surprise being addressed to, but then shocked Joey by holding up a tin bucket.

 _“Sh-she was m-meltin’! I c-c-couldn’t stop it but I tr-tr-tried c-catchin’ her!”_   Joey yanked the bucket from him, heart dropping when he saw the white halo floating in the ink. Wally kept talking, having no problem voicing his fright while Joey was struck mute. _“Sh-she’s gonna be alright, right?? Alice… She’s too young to be like this!”_ His hands started moving as he talked, splattering ink around him. Other ink beings -musicians and other workers that hadn’t made it to the level of coherency that Wally accomplished and Joey had named “Searchers”- started to congregate at the noise, dragging their bodies toward Wally’s voice.

Anxiety was riding high, and making Joey more paranoid and panicked. He’d slapped Wally’s “cheek”, snapping him out of his own panic. And after a beat of silence, the curious Searchers had started to fall away.

Joey took a few calming breaths, not as high-strung with the relaxing silence around him. Okay. Okay. He had to think this out logically. Murray had said this was a possibility. The characters weren’t meant to last on this plane of existence long. That’s why he still needed the rituals set up. The rituals would allow toons to take over living human ones. That way they could leave the studio and not be limited by so much. Said rituals weren’t feasible right now. But… God he thought that the toons would’ve lasted longer. Alice had only been alive for four months….

No. He shouldn’t think like that. She was just Ink right now. This Ink was her. Her blood and life and brain and her everything….. In a fucking tin bucket. He clutched the bucket closer to his chest, shivers going up his back as he looked to the bucket. The halo was melting into white paint, quickly eaten away by black ink. He faced Wally, voice quivering slightly as he pleaded “Don’t tell Bendy or Boris.”

Wally didn’t remember much anymore, but still. There was always the possibility this was one of those few moments of lucidity. So he’d take the small comfort of Wally’s nod.

He’d hidden the bucket in one of the animation offices, locking it for good measure and breaking the key in the door knob. He’d find a way to get her out on his own time. Right now, he needed to calm himself down, and make up some kind of credible story for why Alice was gone… Bendy was not easily fooled as Boris was……..

Stepping over the pile of toons, Joey went to his own chair and slumped into the seat, dragging his gloved hands through his hair before rubbing the back of his neck. How could he begin to explain what had happened? Even he didn’t know. The only one who’d seen it was Wally, and he couldn’t be trusted with his finicky memory. His eyes slid shut without warning, only opening when he heard a loud scream.

**_“BORIS!! BORIS, BUDDY!!”_ **

Joey woke up with a snap, jumping to his feet before his body realized that he couldn’t stand on his leg today. He’d crumbled to the ground just as quickly, groaning as pain ignited up his leg and through his spine. He hadn’t realized what was wrong before he saw the face in front of him. Boris the Wolf had X’s for eyes, tongue lolled out of his mouth, and ink was leaking past his lips. He’d reached up to the left side of his face, brushing the long ear away from his face and smearing ink across one of the X’s.

 ** _“Jah-JOEY!!”_**   Bendy was bawling in fear, holding Boris’s stiffening shoulder. **_“YAH goTTA HELp him! I can’t git’ him up!!”_**

Joey tried pulling himself up, biting back the pain in his leg as he tried to move. But no, his leg had to be stubborn today! He needed to move, and it just hurt it hurt IT HURT SO BAD- “Shit shit shit!” He couldn’t help cursing, but he was stuck. And no way could Bendy help him, there was no time….. He had to think fast….. He couldn’t have Boris as ink in a bucket as well…… There was no way to preserve Boris for an undetermined amount of time…

Unless…..

“BENDY! Bendy, I need you to listen to me carefully.” Oh God he hoped he was on the right track. “Go get me the backgrounds from yesterday! The one with the lab table on it! Put it on the projector!”

 ** _“Okay!”_**   Bendy’s eyes were starting to shift, looking off-model but no less scared like Joey imagined he was. Still, he did as Joey asked, running away to the other side of the studio to pick up the films that his Creator painted the other day.

Leaving Joey with Boris.

The human, who killed so many and sacrificed so many to make these toons, staring at the anthropomorphic body on the floor, and feeling something he hadn’t in literal years.

Horror.

….Heh. It’d taken a cartoon to make him feel terrible about dead bodies again. The irony was not lost on him. Tiny bubbles of laughter were forming in his throat, but he forced himself to swallow them back down. No time for that. He needed to save Boris and his ink. And as the phrase went, if you can’t walk…Crawl. With only a second’s hesitation to pull the wolf’s body across his back, Joey steeled himself against the ground before he started to crawl across the wooden floor. The pain made it so, so hard… But he needed to do his part! He had to get Boris to the projector playing.

Just like one of the shorts… Just had to get Boris on screen…..

Bendy had come to his aid after switching the projector on, and it took their combined effort to push Boris onto the projector’s screen. Bendy had even jumped onto the “set”, using the leather straps to hold the tall wolf up so he wouldn’t slide off the table. It was a macabre sight for sure…. But it would do.

His little demon had noticed Joey relaxing against the ground, anxiety picking up once more. ** _“Oh-…Okay…. What we do now?”_**   He spun around to look at Joey, visible sweat drops running down his white face. **_“What do we do now?? He’s on screen but-…. He can’t stay tha’ way. You got som’thin’ up yer sleeve, right Joey??”_**   Bendy’s face fell so fast when he saw the lack of reaction from his Creator, shivering and body starting to melt. **_“….Joey-pal?”_**

He needed to collect his thoughts. Find a gentle way to tell his little demon what was now inevitable. And not sound as panicked and scared as he felt. Easy-peasy.

“Bendy… I’m sorry. But his Ink isn’t that stable. He was liable to melt away if I didn’t get him on one of the sets.” Bendy’s breath hitched, and Joey reached to pull his little demon close. “Don’t you worry though…. If we keep the projector on, keep that one scene playing…. He won’t change. His ink won’t go anywhere. And we can keep him safe…. Safe until I can get you all proper bodies.”

**_“…Promise?”_ **

“Promise.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((I have no idea how I wrote two chapters in a short time. But I'm slightly burnt out and gonna try drawing now.))


	14. Twisting and Turning to Acetone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's had time to twist and turn and become something other than human. 
> 
> And someone else has a moment of clarity which takes their own life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((WARNING. There is a scene involving a suicidal character taking their life in this one. Please, PLEASE take caution reading this one. If you need to skip over this one, please do.))

It’s been so long.

I can’t remember how long I’ve been here.

I try to sleep through most of the time here, and it honestly helps.

My entire body has been dissolved now. I’m nothing but Ink. My bones floated to the bottom of the machine, resting against the ground-up pieces remaining of Wally Franks. It’s…disturbing at first. Especially considering that that repairman should've removed these bones when he worked on the machine... But you learn to become used to it. Not become numb to the disgusting nature of it, but just… It’s a fact now. I’m no longer human. I’m a consciousness floating in this Ink Machine. And with me, in the ink… Is my Creation. Bendy. His form has melted away into the Ink as well. The only thing that separates me and him is our different minds. His sentience and mind is as tangible as the thick black ink, while my mind is scattered amongst the remaining ink. In a way, I got a semblance of what I wanted: Bendy and I share a body now. This body just happens to be gallons of ink and blood in a machine that normally would pump it through a studio.

At least I’m finally without physical pain.

Years have passed since I was pushed into the machine and Bendy decided to stay in this small prison with me. Admittedly, I have to say I’m impressed with Bendy’s faith in the former music director. Even when he’s seen the man try to escape the studio building, he as much faith as Sammy does in him.

The Machine has yet to be turned on.

That would be Sammy’s escape, as well as everyone else’s. But no. He believes Bendy when he says to not turn on the Ink Machine. Neither of them know the truth, and even if they did, I have no doubt they’d keep it turned off out of spite for me. They’d do anything to keep me from escaping the Ink Machine and making this studio into my playground. My own personal world where I could make the impossible possible.

Bendy has found he can talk to Sammy Wes. Not often, but sometimes, his voice carries through the machine and I can hear his elation at being heard by someone else. As long as that someone else isn’t me and can interact with him. It’s enough to make me upset, but not enough to call Bendy out on it.

Just because I can do that trick, too. Not to Sammy; something that eludes me, but fine. I don’t want to talk to that blond traitor yet anyways. But I can interact with the other Searchers. To Wally. I can talk to them. And when Bendy doesn’t pay attention, I can even command them. I guess it really was worth giving up my hands and eyes to this machine. Not in the way I expected, but I’ll take what I can. And, if I concentrate long enough, I can find things by sound in this studio. I can find pathetic Searchers or the patchwork remains of Barley, Charley, and Edgar. They're nothing but tormented souls, made by what remains of Susie and Alice. Something that Susie thinks would help, but doesn't. I appear in hallways, take them out of their misery... I nearly got this strange version of Alice once... But she escaped my grasp, and went back to her work. 

At least now, the whispers that hang on the walls are "Beware the Ink Demon". They're terrified of me.

They should be. 

I made them and brought them into this world, and I can take them back out. Especially since they are not acting as they should be.

It’s a stray newspaper that flies into the studio, landing in front of a Searcher. When I look though its eyes, I finally realize how spiteful both Bendy and Sammy could be and how long we’ve all been stuck in here.

It’s been eight years.

Eight years is a very, very long time.

….

No. Tempting as it may be, I can’t be mad at my Creation. He doesn’t know the complexities of human life or this realm, and that was because I made him as such. No. He has no real concept of time and how long eight years is to a human mind. But… The sheer amount of time that has passed does inspire me to write a letter. Or, at least force a Searcher to write a letter for me. And borrow a little cartoon logic to have it appear in a nearby postman’s bag to send. And… it does make me concerned about another Creation.

I reach out, quietly telling a Searcher to check on the projector where Boris rests. The real one. Not a copy that Susie keeps trying to replicate and failing, but the real one. The one locked behind a door in the top-most floor. The Real Boris.

The Searcher appears in front of the table without question, and I can see the room through their own eyes. The projector still plays, the never-changing image of Boris against the wall. I can ignore the taller Searcher standing there, observing Boris’s body like I am.

It’s just as I left it eight years ago. Boris dying… It happened a short time before I invited Sammy to the studio. Maybe a month or so? I can’t rightly remember. I remember taking him out of the projector though. Carefully cutting him open and removing his inky heart. It was a lot more realistic than I expected from him, but I supposed at the time it was just because he was in a human situation. Cartoons weren’t meant to be kept after death. But I had taken the heart, intending to put it into Sammy and let him become Boris. To show Susie once and for all how this was supposed to work. And to make her stop making all those copies downstairs, only to butcher them in vain hope to find what worked.

Bendy thought I was just in it for the thrill of torture. It was why he’d tried to help Sammy by having him drink ink, and fought me when I said I’d put the heart in the Ink Machine. I never got why he’d thought that. I never intentionally tortured anyone… Not even Sammy.

I tore him open with a PURPOSE. With a true INTENT. Not for cheap thrills.

I would do it again and again if it meant bringing Boris back to life, with a proper body this time around.

I cut open Boris to take his bigger than life heart, and I cut Sammy open to give it a home. What was so wrong about that?

It wasn’t wrong.

It wasn’t.

 

I can’t be!

 

I’m… I’m the hero in this story!

 

I HAVE TO BE.

 

I don’t notice my own laughing, or even recognize it. My laughs are all I can hear as I try to reassure myself.

 

I’m not bad! I’ve done bad things is all! It’s for a good reason! But I’m not bad.

 

I’m a good person!

 

I’m getting off track. Stuck in rationalizing that I don’t realize the tall Searcher is laughing as well. It’s laughing and coughing and shaking and the sight is close to making me sick.

_STOP THAT._

It doesn’t stop.

_I Said STOP._

It keeps laughing, arms swinging out and knocking the projector off its stand. In that instant, the image that had been on the projector was made real. Boris was belted against a table, torso open up for everyone to see. A wrench that had been on the painted lab table slid into the open cavity of a chest. And the damn Searcher couldn’t stop laughing.

I tried to yell at it once more, but realized the laughs turned to hysterical sobs. It’s stump of a right arm was painting the wall, arm shaking with each letter.

 

 

> WHO’S LAUGHiNG NOW?

 

The Searcher can’t stop sobbing. It’s broken, garbled cries remind me of someone….

 _“I’m TIRED, DREW!! I DON'T WANT TO WORK HERE ANYMORE!!”_ It crumbled to the floor, the formless limb of a leg twisting at the end. _“LET ME SEE MARGIE!”_

Wally’s back… Probably not for long. So I don’t answer. It’ll be like times before, where he’ll slip out of lucidity and come back without a memory.

_“PLEASE!! YOU LET SAMMY STAY!! YOU LET SUSIE STAY!”_

I don’t answer. I don’t want to drag on this moment of clarity any longer, less Wally do something dangerous.

He does so anyway. I don’t know how he does it, but… He found a small bottle of acetone in the room. He’s sobbing openly, and it attracts the attention of other Searchers. Bendy can’t hear it, but I do. Wally’s sane, and he’s not stopping. He’s just sobbing as he upturns the bottle over his mess of a head. The sight….

God I would never wish this on anyone. He melts. He’s melting, like boiling water poured over ice. And he never screams, he only cries and sobs. Other Searchers screech as acetone leaks and threatens to touch their forms, then scream as they sink to the lower levels. I get the sick pleasure of watching Wally dissolve into more quiet cries and a puddle on the floor. It takes much longer than I thought to for him to die. He’s begging to see Margie, pleading with anyone listening to let him go so he can be with his wife once more. He’s so pathetic, but I can’t be upset with him either. He’s in pain from the acetone and the memories made clear. So I leave him. He’s no longer important. And…. Well, he deserves to pass in peace. I took away his ability to die in dignity, so I’ll let him suffer and cry as he’s lucid for now.

The power flickers off after I hear his final sobs.

….

A waste….

Wally Franks, I hope you do meet Margie wherever you ended up. I didn’t want to hurt you.

But now I have someone else to focus on.

The inky creature known as Sammy is on the second level. Susie is on the ninth level. Norman... On the fourteenth. And Henry…. Oh, Henry Ross will be coming soon enough. They’re my targets now.

Why?

Well. That’s a simple answer.

I need to give Boris and Bendy their true bodies. Henry’s curiosity will convince him to turn on the machine. And if I know Sammy Wes, he’ll try to help. In his own twisted way, he thinks that Bendy needs a body to get out of the machine and break everyone out. So he’ll help me.

I promised I would keep the toons safe until they had proper bodies. And I’d done just that.

All that’s left is giving them those bodies.  


	15. Last Shot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Insecurities and a lack of time make for some terrible decisions.

It had been a few weeks since Boris…. Boris fell apart. Or more accurately, both Boris passed on and Alice fell apart. Alice was still nothing but rapidly drying ink in a tin bucket while Boris remained on a projector. On display. His Creations, which he'd grown to adore and love even more than he'd thought possible since they became physical, were fading before his very eyes. Not dead... No. No dead. They weren't dying. He had to refuse that train of thought, less he fall into despair and do something dangerous. 

But the thoughts alone sickened him, and no doubt had upset Bendy. He’d hesitated on admitting to Bendy what he thought might have happened; he was unsure and he didn’t want to upset his Creation with his fellow Creations' mortality. Or worse, give him false hope on how it could be reversed. That would’ve been worse. He couldn’t stand telling the little demon something that might give him a glimmer of hope and watch as his heart was crushed when it didn’t go through.

He was already having a hard enough time putting on a suit and smile for today.

 _ **“Do ya gotta go?”**_   Bendy was staying by his legs, brushing a piece of dirt off Joey’s pant leg before smoothing out the material. He normally wasn’t so skittish, having seen Joey leave the studio before and come back. But…. He’d had Boris and Alice with him the last few months. The lack of company wasn't the concerning factor this time, either.

“Yes.” Joey looked into the mirror once more, adjusting his black bowtie for the twentieth time. “I have to. But I promise, I’ll try and be only an hour. Maybe two if the show’s taken on.” He was just as reluctant to leave the studio, but… He had the pitch. He had a pilot and two episodes in his satchel. He had papers and contracts, even a resume and plan written out. All the TV studio had to do was accept it. And if they’d accepted that con-man’s version of Alice Angel, then certainly they’d take on Bendy the Dancing Demon.

He was the original creator.

He made the shorts.

He made his cartoons come to life and they’d jumped onto the screen…

And he NEEDED them to accept this pitch. It wasn’t just his work on the line; it was his Creations’ as well. They did the hard work on the shorts, and all of them couldn't afford to be ignored.

If this worked, it would be easier getting bodies for the cartoons. He could get the last bits of the ritual done. Alice would have her own body and not be afraid of going to church, and Boris could be brought back from the brink to play the clarinet once more, and Bendy could live up to his name and dance on Main Street. Joey could get the remainder of who worked at SillyVision and Joey Drew Studios last… Yes, they’d need new musicians, that was obvious, but if he could get Lawrence back… Or drag the good little solider Ross back….Even that bitter Susie…

A tug on his vest brought his attention back to the present, and he flinched at the transition to present day. Looking down, he saw his scared Creation holding up his cane. Offering it. **_“You’ll be okay, Joey-pal?”_**

…

He hated lying to Bendy. It was like lying to a child to him. Even if he was justified, it was just wrong. But this was a rare moment where he had to lie, simply because telling the truth would’ve helped no one. He was far from okay, but he needed to fake it to make it. So he nodded, putting on one of the biggest smiles he could muster. He smiled wide and proud, taking the cane in his right hand and leaning on it heavily so he could take the weight off his foot. “I’ll be just fine, Devil Darling. Have a little faith.”

It was worth the small but proud grin on the cartoon’s face. Walking behind the Creator, Bendy all but pressed himself against Joey’s left side, following his human to the entrance of the studio. For such an animated demon, Bendy was doing a commendable job at hiding his nervousness. His form wasn’t even shivering, and he was working on not fidgeting with his hands. The only reason Joey could see through the calm facade was because he was just as anxious and nervous. He had a similar problem with fidgeting with his hands. Terrible habit. And worse tell. Especially with having to wear gloves now. Once they were at the front door, Joey reached over, patting Bendy between the horns and rubbing his head affectionately. “Don’t get in too much trouble while I’m out.”

 ** _“I woooooon’t~!”_   **The childish reply was welcomed, and Joey gave him a small wave as he walked out to the parking lot. It was so pleasant….

……….

…

Unfortunately, the other shoe just had to drop.

He knew that the Hays Code was being abandoned at this point. Yet…. Hilariously…. They didn’t want the show. The damn studio was run by holier-than-thou old money who happened to dislike the very NOTION of a DEMON being the star of a show!! He didn’t even want to watch the shorts! He’d brushed it off, not considering the history of success the predecessor had! And when bringing up the Alice Angel shorts, had simply waved a hand, mentioning how he disliked those shorts. And as an afterthought, had brought up he wasn’t sure if they could use another studio’s character.

He hadn’t listened to Joey at all. Just shoved him outside the door.

His plans were falling apart once more. He leaned against the outside of the door, struggling to gasp for air and force hysterics to remain in his torso. Not escape and scare his cartoon.

Still. He wanted to scream. He wanted to pick things up and throw them. He wanted to break down and sob and cry.

It wasn’t a simple rejection this time around. Two of his three Creations were dead. He hadn’t wanted to admit it, but they were. They were DEAD. Dead and he couldn’t bring them back without the rituals being completed….

And God… God above, how long did Bendy have?? How long before Bendy started to melt like Alice had? Or simply pass in his sleep like Boris? How long would he have his Devil Darling??

….

They’d all worked so hard. Everything would’ve been fine if the bastard said “yes”.

 

It wasn’t a simple rejection this time.

 

It was admission that he wasn’t good enough.

 

That he could do the impossible. He could bend over backwards, be more than his own disability and short-comings and so much more. He brought CARTOONS to literal LIFE!! HE’D DONE WHAT NO HUMAN EVER HAD BEFORE.

And it wasn’t enough.

 

His accomplishments weren’t enough.

 

His belief was not enough.

 

…..

 

How on Earth could he face Bendy?

 

……

…

Well, that was an easier answer. He just needed to open the front door.

He swung it open, carefully walking over the threshold. He’d half expected Bendy to run up to him to greet him, but the other half knew better. Once he was past the first hallway, he walked down a different path, finding Bendy sitting on the floor in front of Boris’s projected screen. He would’ve joined Bendy on the floor, but had to opt for a nearby chair given his leg flaring up. Once he had settled, though, he’d leaned over and rubbed Bendy’s back.

 _ **“…It didn’ go well, huh?”**_ Joey flinched immediately, so taken off guard he couldn’t form a proper lie or excuse. **_“….I kinda guessed since you were back so early.”_** Bendy gave a heavy sigh afterward, leaning against Joey’s left leg, his own tail loosely wrapping around the larger ankle behind him. **_“I’m sorry, Joey….”_**

“You got nothing to be sorry for.” His self pity was overrode by a need to reassure Bendy, and he kept a hand on the lil’ demon’s head. “We did everything we could outside’a bribing them with money and women. And even then, they probably would complain… They don’t know a good show when they see it. Their loss!” He even threw in a good natured laugh for proper measure, trying to keep his tone light.

It seemed to work. Bendy was laughing with him.

But he was also leaning rather heavily against Joey. And when Joey pulled his hand back, it was coated in thick black ink.

 

Oh no…

 

He didn't need to see Bendy's face to know his widow's peek and his eyes were dripping down his face. He could hear tears in his tone and the defeat in his voice before the demon had turned to look at him.

 

**_“…I don’t feel that good, Joey….”_ **


	16. Looking Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's able to help Bendy. And he finally gets answers on what went wrong and how to make things right.

Contrary to popular belief, Joey could remember the last time he ran. It wasn’t exactly an easy thing for him to do, given his twisted foot, so moments he ignored the anatomical issues as well as the pain to simply move most days? They stood out.

Last time he’d run this much or this fast was Wally’s accident with the first Ink Machine. And while he had many regrets of that night, running had not been one of them.

And now he was running with cargo. Bendy- his literal pride and joy- was dripping and losing his form so fast... It’d only been minutes since he’d been back “home” in the studio after the failed show pitch, and Bendy had mentioned feeling awful before he'd passed out against his leg. The fact  this had all taken place in Boris’s…“room”.... It hadn’t helped his mindset either.

He was an adult; he could admit to being scared shitless right then and there.

Steadying himself against the wall with one hand and holding Bendy in the other, Joey made it to his former office in record time. He hardly noticed how easy it was to hobble to the Ink Machine, focusing on throwing open the top instead. Once it was, he’d had to reach just to set Bendy in the thick ink. He didn’t trust the cartoon to float, so he held his hands under his back to keep him from disappearing into the ink. “Cmon Bendy…. Cmon…” He worried on his bottom lip, watching as Bendy started to melt into the ink. The weight of the cartoon was still tangible in his hands, not even slipping through his fingers, and that alone was comforting. Minutely, but comforting.

It was the longest five minutes of Joey’s long life before Bendy groaned.

**_“….Owwwwww…… Tell Boris…tah get….outta th’ truck…… His drivin’ stinks….”_ **

He wanted to fall over in relief. “Bendy! Sweet Lord... You’re alright….” His relief-induced boneless-ness lasted only a second; he was holding his Devil Darling, and paranoia for the cartoon’s well-being was prickling the edge of his mind. “Are you hurt? How do you feel??” He shifted a hand so that he could tilt Bendy’s head out of the ink. The poor thing’s white face was covered in his own black ink, he couldn’t even see where his widow peek started or ended. All he could see was a downcast mouth and hints of his bowtie. “….Bendy, keep talking to me, okay? Cmon now….” He’d failed to keep the fear out of his voice, but he truly was scared.

Bendy’s visible mouth quickly quirked up in a small smile. **_“Heh…Sorry…. Jus’ hurts righ’ now….”_**   With some effort, Bendy pulled his own hand out of the ink pool and rested it on his cheek before pushing some ink out of his eye. If Joey was in a better state, he’d recognize it as his own motion when he had o push hair out of his eyes. **_“I’m feelin’ better…. Kinda…A little…”_**

“Okay… Okay. Just sit tight, Devil Darlin’.” He forced his feet to cooperate, standing up a little straighter so blood circulation in his arms wouldn’t be cut off against the lid’s lip.

He was honestly shocked that had worked. He knew the toons drank ink, and the ink from the machine always perked them up much faster. But he didn’t exactly want to refill the Ink Machine’s special kind of ink… Not with Bendy here to witness. But maybe he would have to…. Especially if Bendy’s form was degrading. And Boris and Alice…. Oh god, would he need to refill their own ink with the machine’s? With the special blend of blood and ink?

Bendy’s stained glove patting his cheek brought him out of his thoughts, and he stared at the reforming white face of his Creation. **_“Jah-… Joey…. Yer’ cryin’…..”_**

….Oh. He was. He no longer cried salty tears, but he could feel the puffiness in his sinuses, the wet weight on his lower eyelids, and only just then realized how blurry his vision was. He must be crying. Bendy was close to tears himself, but he still made his smile a little wider. **_“I didn’ know ya cried ink….li’ me….”_**

Joey immediately pulled Bendy out of the machine, hugging the little demon close. He all but clutched onto his Creation, the small body against his chest, keeping Bendy’s head over his shoulder so he could breathe and see. It was only then he gave into his bum leg, curling around the small demon and meeting the ground with his hip. He hadn’t thought he could get so scared. Yet here he was, being proven wrong once more by the cartoon against his chest. Even when Bendy started to squirm, getting comfortable in Joey’s thick arms and starting to hug him back, the Creator couldn’t stop crying. ** _“Hey…. Joey…I’m fine now… Really….”_**

“…I know kid…. You just gave me a bad scare there… Couldn’t react then. So it’s all catching up now.” He finally pulled a hand back, wiping at his eyes with an ink-stained glove. Even if all it did was move the ink around, the motion itself seemed to help.

**_“Oh… Sorry.”_ **

“Don’t be… You didn’t do this on purpose. I can’t be mad at you.” He held the back of Bendy’s head once more, leaning his own cheek against one of the stylized horns. “I’m just….I’m just glad you’re okay now.”

That seemed to sate the tired cartoon, who nudged his head against his Creator’s chin. He could forgo his pride and admit he wanted to be close to Joey, which meant cuddling. Thankfully, Joey didn't care about his own pride or the cartoon's childlike behavior, and accepted the gesture.

That night, Joey had slept in a chair next to a set of drawers. Mainly because one had been pulled out and was stuffed with a pillow and loose blankets to serve as a bed for Bendy. Neither wanted to away from the other too long, and this was a good compromise for when they slept. And the entire day was spent with Joey fishing empty ink wells into the Ink Machine’s own supply and refilling them. He’d give one to Bendy by his legs, who drank the ink down rather greedily. Very little was spoken between them, but it wasn’t tense. Just a quiet time for them to recover to yesterday. Joey enjoyed the minimal labor and repetitive motions, and Bendy felt a little safer staying so close with his Creator. As the day wore on, Bendy gently pushed Joey toward the makeshift kitchen, holding a few ink wells under his arm. Joey was too passive to fight the toon, and they both had a small dinner in the kitchen. It was their day to recover.

The first words of the entire day was Bendy asking **_“What’ll we do now? Since the show-“_**

“We’ll figure something out tomorrow.” The last words of the entire day followed shortly after. “I promise.”

Once he’d placed Bendy in his drawer and tucked the demon in, Joey let himself fall against the chair. He couldn’t say that all panic from the other day had worked itself out, but a majority had. He could think a little more clearly now. And he needed to pull something out of his ass if he wanted to keep Bendy safe and bring Boris and Alice back. With a heavy sigh, he reached up to one of the higher drawers. It was opened easily, then closed after he retrieved a small notebook with an attached pen. He had so many thoughts, and maybe writing them down- even the disjointed ones- would help.

 

> _Ink is toons’ form. Ink machine ink helps since that’s their form._  
>  _Ink Machine ink is dangerous to make. As well as unstable. Hill said that it can’t sustain them long._  
>  _Need to give human bodies SOON rather than later._  
>  _Susie or Allison can be Alice. Not sure who to call in._  
>  _Wally was supposed to be Boris’. But he isn’t the closest link. WHO IS???_  
>  _Who is closest to Bendy?_

Oh god, that was a good set of questions. He turned a page and started writing again, a little more frantic as he tried to connect the pieces.

 

> _Alice: designed a few months after Susie hired on. Me and ~~Henry~~ ROSS worked on design for weeks before showing off._  
>  _Boris: designed at beginning after 2 weeks. Aired after 4 episodes._  
>  _Bendy: first_

Okay. Now he had a timeline. He could focus on small things…. But it still hadn’t helped. They’d hired on so many once the third episode had aired and popularity was climbing. He knew they hired Wally on during that time….

He pulled the notebook up, slapping the cover against his forehead a few times. It was a poor way to jumpstart his brain, but at this rate, he’d take ANY sense knocked around! He set the book back in his lap, and that’s when he noticed some papers peeking out of the back cover. Oh. He must have grabbed a used notebook. But whose? Curiosity calmed his frustration, and he carefully pulled the loose leaves out to look at them.

It was Ross’s handwriting. He recognized the chicken scratch as much as he did the clean lines of the artwork. Doodles littered the pages, as did little notes. This…. This was concept art. Building blocks. The original inspiration. How had he never seen these before? Why had Ross hidden them away? He wasn’t the bravest when it came to showing off his work, but still. This was Bendy and Boris. There was no need to be shy when they had a whole studio dedicated to them. He pulled up each page, finding the progression of designs rather fascinating. Bendy hadn’t changed too much… But he seemed a lot angrier in first drafts, almost always wearing a scowl. And always with a walking cane, either leaning on it or spinning it. It was an interesting choice. Boris had gone through more of a change, starting out without his infamous overalls and having a more triangular torso. Overall, more bulky in design. That was quickly changed, his body slimming down and the overalls being added on. And a few studies of his face showed that Boris was originally going to be chewing on a cigar constantly, and the motif was completed by thick lines acting as stubble on his cheeks. Those had stuck a little more in the final design.

The last picture cleared up most of his questions in an instant.

It was a sketch of Bendy and Boris. Boris was sitting on a hay bale while Bendy stood on another one. The lil devil had a mischievous glint in his eyes, not at all bothered by Boris poking him in the stomach. The little quotation at the bottom of the image read **“Don’t think ya’ c’n fool me bein’ all smooth!”**

That reminded him so much of the day he got a good loan from the bank. He’d charmed the adults and played them like a violin, but it had taken giving the bank manager’s child a Bendy plush to sell it. He could remember coming back to Ross and Lawrence, and a little light-hearted bickering.

Lawrence…. With his wide shoulders. And stubborn 5 o’ clock shadow. And cigars. And those damn overalls. Who bickered constantly with him…. Who was constantly angry before he got to know Ross. And needed a cane.

Just like that, the pieces were coming together.

Wally hadn’t been the inspiration for Boris. He may have later on, but he wasn’t the first, the original. It’d been Sammy Wes this whole time?! And Ross…. He’d based Bendy off of him. That was why the cartoon acted so much like him, even now. It all made sense now. And he must have started designing Alice after Susie. 

He turned back to the pages he’d been listing things off of.

 

> _Sammy is Boris. Susie is Alice. Get Susie here. See if process works on her before trying Sammy into Boris. Then self._


	17. Wally's Revenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joey's plans always seem to go awry. And this time, it's because Wally got unintended revenge.

He was so glad it had worked. He’d learned over the years that even his most fool-proof plans were destined to go awry, but there was always that one or two that actually seemed to work. This particular plan seemed like one of the lucky few so far.

Henry Ross was in the studio. He was in the studio, and mindlessly going around the studio to collect tributes.

He’d start up the Ink Machine. He and Bendy would be freed. They could help Sammy and bring Boris back! Alice and Susie would be alright! The Searchers could be given peace. And most importantly? Everyone would be able to leave the studio. And, if he dared to think it… Maybe bring those he sacrificed back. It seemed impossible, but he was already making the impossible possible! He was proof! He should’ve been dead years ago, but he isn’t. Same with Sammy. …He would’ve been able to bring Wally back as well, but…

….

That was not his fault. If he went down that road, he would never get himself out of it. It was not his fault that Wally dumped a bottle of acetone on himself. He would’ve stopped him if he wasn’t stuck in the machine. Or if the Searchers weren’t afraid of the chemical. He was so close to bringing him back, he even had his original body here in the Ink Machine as bones... It wasn’t his fault that Wally had killed himself.

If he kept telling himself that, he might start to believe it. He said it enough times so he knew he wasn’t guilty at least. 

Now he had to focus though. Henry was in the building. And Sammy was liable to hurt the man or run him off if he started up the machine. Just as he about to round on Bendy, he could hear the little demon speaking quietly. **_“Shhhhh… It’s okay, Music Man. Let him try.”_**  He calmly muttered other soothing things, but Joey couldn’t understand or hear them as well. It seemed so contradictory; he was stuck in the machine with Joey because he didn’t want the machine on. Why was he being so blasé about it now? Even telling his little “worshipper” to relax?

Before he could really stop himself, Joey viciously spat _“What are you playing at, Bendy? Don’t you want us to STAY in here?”_   It was hard reigning in his temper, and he was done being patient. And yet, Bendy didn’t flinch. He simply faced his Creator, his melted face clearly wearing the expression of defeat. The dense ink did nothing to hide the utterly human expression, without typical exaggeration of a cartoon.

Seeing such a vulnerable face made him regret his harsh words, and tangible shame made Joey try to come closer. _“I-…”_  God, he swore he wouldn’t be like his own father, being so paranoid and mistrusting when he had no standing for it. And he had no such thing; Bendy had done what he thought was right. Even if it wasn’t what Joey thought. He’d accepted that years ago. _“I mean… What are you working for now? I thought that… I thought you didn’t want my plans to go through. Even if it meant you… You could disappear. So what’s changed your mind?”_  The words felt oddly cathartic to admit, and he reached forward to pull Bendy close once more. The demon didn’t even fight it, only nudging his head against Joey’s remainder of a chest. _“I promise I won’t yell. Just….tell me. Please. I’m confused….”_  It was so strange, speaking this honestly. But at this point, he had nothing to lose. Not even a shred of pride.

 ** _“I’m jus’ tired, Joey….”_**  The demon gave a small hiccup, and Joey felt thin melting arms wrap around him. **_“I’m t-tired bein’ mah-maddd atcha’…. I’m t-t-tired lookin’ at the same six sides…. I’m so st-t-t-tretched ou’… All the ink n’ cuh’outs n’… I wanna-HIC! … I wanna get out too! I WANNA GO OUT!!”_**  He shuddered heavily, hands digging into Joey’s back a little more. **_“I WANNA SEE OU’SIDE! AND-! ….. And…….And if that means ta’ let you do wha’ you want….then….I’ll stop fightin’, Joey. I’m jus’ tired…..Please…I’m beggin’ ya… I jus’ wanna go ou’side…..”_**

Joey could only hug him closer. He wanted to take on Bendy’s helplessness instead of letting him suffer. He knew these overwhelming feelings all too well, and he never wanted his Creation to experience them. There was no positive reason for him to feel this. He was just exhausted of fighting so long. That was something that Joseph Bartholomew Drew knew all too well. _“….It’ll be okay, Bendy. You don’t need to fight… I’ll get ya outside. If it’s the last thing I truly do, I will get you out of this studio.”_ He’d be willing to put the remainder of his plans on hold for Bendy. His Devil Darling. His Creation deserved to see the outside and to interact with other humans…

Not ones that were forced here, and not him.

As his mind wandered to Sammy Lawrence, he could see something in his mind’s eye. It was a small room…. A closet turned into an office, given how small it was. And there was… That was Sammy! Even with the ink covering his body and the ridiculous mask, he knew that was his former Music Director. Why could he see the man now…? He didn’t know, nor did he have time to ponder. The man he could see was shaking, head snapping back and forth as he searched for a way out. Ink was flicking off in little droplets thanks to the fast movement, and it reminded Joey of how Wally used to. A cornered animal. …. Probably a more apt description than he cared to really admit. He needed to get Sammy away from Henry, back down to the Music Department.

Bendy tried to speak, still overcome with remaining hiccups.

**_“Don’t panic there-“_ **

_“Sammy! Just open the door.”_  Swallowing heavily, he let his voice shift. He was Bendy’s voice for so long, and while it wasn’t easy to do, it was familiar. **_“It’ll take you back down to your department!”_**

Bendy pulled back to look up at his Creator, blinking through the ink as Joey coughed once, humming to get his normal voice back. Unspoken questions weighed between them, settling heavily in the ink. The only thing that they both desperately wanted was clear.

Out.

They needed out.

A switch was pushed, and their inky prison started to pulse around them. The pulsing was strange, but not harmful. That came in a split second when sharp, thick pieces shifted in the ink as well. It mixed with the ink, somehow scraping and stabbing the two ink beings. Bendy latched on tightly as Joey curled around him, both screaming as the dense pieces cut into them.

**_“NO NO NO!”_ **

_“OH GOD this HURTS!”_

**_“MUSIC MAN-“_ **

_“SAMMY WES!”_

A third voice joined in their screaming, and suddenly, the pain was gone. The pulsing had dulled to a mere hum, and the pieces had disappeared. Or…No. They were here. They were still here in the ink, just resting around the two beings. Waiting.

The only sound that echoed in the machine was the former Music Director whining and shuddering. Yet Bendy was jumping at something else he could see, which made Joey curious. In his own eye, he could see a cut-out moving around in a hallway. _“Who did that?? Who’s this man down the hallway? I gotta-“_

**_“Don’t look around you dimwit! He’ll not come over!”_ **

_“Oh right, sorry!”_

The damage was still done, but they were interrupted by a quiet whine. _“My Lord! Please, you’re so loud…!”_  He hadn’t heard Sammy’s voice in so long, and that pathetic sound was his friend? What had happened to this man to change him so much?

Neither were thought through. The ink pulsed around him, and he felt the hard pieces pull him to a single wall. Bendy tucked close to his body, like he was afraid to let go.

It was all so fast. The claustrophobia from being inside a nozzle lasted only a minute. He could no longer feel the heaviness of thick liquid around him, but cold air that enticed his lungs. And then a hard wooden floor greeted him. **_“Ow our head….”_** It was Bendy’s voice echoing in his mind, loud as a bell. **_“Owwww…. This hurts so much… Make it stop!”_**

 _“I don’t know how!”_   Why was Bendy in his head? Had the ritual worked?? Why was it hurting so much then? It should've been seamless!

 ** _“Please try!”_**   Bendy was bawling in pain, unsure of how this body was to move.

Joey could recognize sensations once more. Air that entered his lungs and cooled the ink on their body, dense points in his arms and legs and hands…. Wait. Why did he have a hand? Why were his legs so twisted?? He was never this tall. He didn’t have a hunch in his spine. Something was wrong. Why was there so many hard bones in his bod-

Those hard pieces. In the ink. They were bones. And Joey knew whose. His skeleton wasn't the only one that was in the machine. 

Bendy interrupted his thoughts, screaming **_“HENRY!!!”_**  before clawing through wooden boards. **_“Don’t run!”_**  Their body reached out once more before falling to the ground. But everything was wrong wrong WRONG Why was he this amalgatmation of ink and mismatched skeletons and he’s dead he’s going to forget and he needs to stop this PLEASE

**_Joey…Joey I can-…. I can’t sta-….’mnotsticki-……’_ **

_Get me outta here. Please get me outta here._

…

..

.

.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Everything…. Was wrong._

_They were floating in a thick puddle? But… Why? Where were they?_

_…._

_They didn’t have a name. That much was given up. They were missing something. Something important._

_They were… They were supposed to be Bendy?_

_Where was Bendy?_

_They needed him._

_Needed him to get outta here._


	18. Dismay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You think they all just erased us,  
> Betrayed us, enslaved us  
> But the deed is done  
> And now we want to get out!"

_The next few moments were riddled with confusion as they tried to pull themself together. First problem was that they were on the ground. That was solved by heaving themself out of the giant ink puddle. A quick look around clarified that it wasn’t a simple puddle, but a flood that had engulfed most of the room. Once they had gotten to their feet, using a wall to keep balance, they noticed how tall the flood was, with the thick liquid pooling around their knees._

_…It hurt to put weight on their foot. They pulled up their left leg, and found a twisted foot. This was weird. Their foot was twisted and gnarled, but not to this degree. …. No matter. The second problem they faced was more pressing. They couldn't remember things that well._

_They let their foot rest back down in the ink, and they struggled to recall something, or anything, to help them._

 

_Bendy._

 

_Important to him._

 

_They needed to know… Why was Bendy important?_

 

_Supposed to save him. Supposed to be him. _

_Bendy the Dancing Demon. The cartoon was small and rounded and clear. But ...him? Just a quick look down at his body told him otherwise. He was too tall, too thin, too messy. …A mistake. That’s right, he was nothing but a mistake. …He needed to be corrected. What would correct him?_

 

A C E T O N E

_The word made him shudder, a pang of fear and guilt shaking him to his core. No. None of that. That was dangerous. It would kill._

_  
As he looked down at the flood, he noticed a piece of yellow paper floating past the wooden boards and resting next to him. It was starting to soak up the ink at the edges, but it wasn’t completely saturated yet. He reached down, picking up the paper and struggling to read it._

 

> Dear Henry,  
>  It seems like a lifetime since we worked on cartoons together. 30 years really slips away, doesn’t it?  
>  If you’re back in town, come visit the old workshop. There’s something I need to show you.  
>  Your best pal,  
>  Joey Drew

_Oh… That helped immensely. He was…._

_No. He was formerly Joey Drew. He was supposed to be Bendy now. But he wasn’t. But he knew who could fix it. One way or another, he’d be able to fix it. The first Creator. _

_Henry would fix it. He just needed to get to Henry. Drag him to the machine in this room. He’d failed once more. He must not have been enough for Bendy. But if he wasn’t… Then the first Creator would be. He’d drag that good little soldier to the Ink Machine, and make him into the lil’ devil. He made no niceties for that awful, spiteful Henry, but he owed Bendy a body. And Ross, well… _

 

_There was a debt to be paid, and for now, he’d do._

 

_Gripping the paper in his hand, he balanced himself on his two feet and started to crush the yellow paper in his hands. It ended up being nothing more than an over-glorified spitwad dyed black, so he threw it back into the ink around his knees._

He’d really have a pain cleaning all of this up.

_…What a strange intrusive thought. But no matter._

_He kept a hand on the wooden boards, knocking his hand against the sides. It was sturdy… He could try to pry one off or push it off. He attempted to yank on one with his more human hand, but it stayed sturdy. Same when he tried to shove into it with his body weight. Honestly, he was more surprised than upset that someone put this up so quickly. And so resilient as well. But, he was still stuck in this room with the ink machine. All of its intended content flooding the floor._

_…._

 

_Now that he thought about it, this was a lot of ink. He could see through the wooden slats that the rest of the floor was similarly flooded. How had all of this come from the machine, he did not know. Instead, he was distracted by something playing in his mind’s eye._

_Like a movie playing in his peripheral vision, where he could hear but just barely catch the images. A wrench slamming against someone else’s head, watching that victim crumble to the ground as they dropped their axe. It was followed by a calm voice crooning “Rest your head… It’s time for bed.”_

_That voice…. He recognized it well. It was …_ that skid rogue _. The Music Director…. God, his name was so_ s _imple, wh_ a _t was it?! A co_ mm _on, eas_ y _name…._

 

_Dammit. He’d have to think on that later. Right now, he needed to get out of the room and down to that area. And with no way out by conventional ways, he couldn’t help but stare at one of the ink pipes. It wasn’t pulsing as much as the others, and ink dribbled down the side of the glass. Leaning closer to look, he saw why. There was a small crack in it, splintering out from a joint. ….If he was careful, he could just squeeze on in. Like a cartoon!_

_Thankfully, the trick was that he just needed to keep thinking that. “This is easy!” and “This is like a short!” helped put him into the right mindset. All he needed to do was lift up a leg and try to step into the crack._

_Fortunately_ _, it worked beautifully, and soon he was part of the ink in the pipes. Unfortunately though, the claustrophobia from earlier came back in waves, making him hyperventilate in the liquid and scramble through the pipes. He felt like a fish, breathing in the ink in gulps as he hit what remained of his arms and legs on the pipes’ insides. It was too tight, too confined, too overwhelming…. But he needed to follow the pipes to the second floor. He needed to get to Ross before he got too damaged or hurt._

_The more he swam, the more his paranoia wore at his rationale. Soon, all he could think was “GET OUT” while gulping the ink down in heavy breathes. He kicked at the pipe, trying to find or make a crack to get back out. But the pipe was holding firm._

_It was too much._

 

_Please get me out…_

 

_LET ME OU-_

_The panic broke as he felt something tickle the edge of his mind. It felt dream-like, like he was about to enter a day dream. He didn’t bother to stop it; a dream would be preferable than this bizarre paranoia. So he let it wash over his consciousness and allowed himself to float through the remainder of the pipes._

 

_What he first saw was black, inky arms pushing a fuzzy figure to sit against a wall. Maybe this was a lucid dream? His arms were black before, he knew that much. And now the arms were moving, hands grabbing onto a singular axe. Now he was certain this was a dream, because he would never have the balance or urge to chop down boards that were blocking off doors. But the imagery was interesting, and time-consuming._

_Even his dream-self seemed baffled at this balance and strength, and he could feel the marvel of the power._ No matter. Keep chopping.

 _As he made it through multiple doors, he could feel his dream-self becoming more and more frustrated. There were just so many and he needed to get through! He knew this had to be the work of Bendy. Something to block his path and just make his work all the more difficult._ DAMN DOOR AND DAMN BENDY!!

 

_His dream-self stopped then, and he could hear familiar whispers on the corners of his mind. A smooth voice, marred by the grinding rasps that only heavy smoking could do._

A calming voice, which could always change his mood. No matter what.

Don’t speak of Bendy that way. He is my savior.

 

 _Before he could stop it, he barked out a single laugh and let the words flow off his non-existent tongue._ Savior?? Hah. You are such a joke, Sammy Wes.

_Sammy! That was the name he’d been looking for. ….But that meant this wasn’t a real dream.  And that those arms and movement was his former Music Director. ….Who was now resting his fingers against a man’s neck. The fuzziness in the stranger’s face began to clear, and he could’ve screamed. _

 

 _THAT WAS HENRY ROSS! Even with the thinning hair and thick glasses and even the burn mark on the opposite side of his neck, he could recognize that face anywhere. Henry Ross… He’d gotten old. And years hadn’t been so kind to him. He looked scruffy, disheveled… It was almost disappointing. But he needed the man alive, and the pulse beneath the fingers proved he was just that. If unconscious. He would’ve been better dead in any other situation._ Should be…. How did he make it through Germany?

 _“Stop that.” The firm voice echoed through, which he could now recognize as Sammy. …Maybe he should be careful in what he thought. He didn’t enjoy sharing what he truly thought. The lack of privacy didn’t bother him as much, but the fact he thought without filters was worrisome. So he watched. He watched as Henry was carried through the hallways, then set against a beam. And after a bit of struggling, he had tied the man to a single beam. …._ Christ, this man is a horse!! _He just couldn’t sit down, his legs had to lock up like that._

 

_Henry started to stir, looking up to him. A defiant face, even when faced with uncertain danger… It was admirable in its own way. Annoying in others._

There we go. Nice and tight. We wouldn’t want our sheep roaming away now, would we?

_…_

_He was shocked to hear his words come out with Sammy’s voice. It sounded unnatural. But on the plus side, it did make him sound terrifying. That was something he could appreciate._

 

_It was fun making people cower in fear._

 

 

_…Now if Henry could cower, that would be nice._

 

_The stubborn man just wouldn’t. He was practically unshakeable before, and time had not worn down that aspect of his personality it seemed…_

 

_He allowed himself to open his eyes, to leave the dream-like state. He knew where they were. He just needed to get out of the pipes now._

 

_With a furious kick, he tried to break the new section of pipe he was near. It splintered rather easily, and he barely had time to metaphorically blink before he was sliding out of the pipe and onto the floor. The force knocked the wind out of him, and he could just barely hear screams and rumbling._

 

_“No! My Lord! Stay back! I am your prophet! I am your-AAAAHHH!!” The growls and rumbling weren’t loud enough to disguise the choking._

 

_He was lost. Too much was going on. He just wanted to rest here in the ink…. Let himself drift away._

 

_It was so hard to fight. So hard to move…._

_…_

_No._

_No, he had to be stronger. He could hear someone coming his way._

 

_With a feat of strength he didn’t know he had, he lurched out of the ink pool he was in. The fact he was greeted with an actual face didn’t register for a split second, but once it had, the man was already running away._

 

_HENRY WAS RUNNING._

 

_He started running after. His legs didn’t want to work, but he needed to force them._

 

_Out of the pool…_

 

_Turning the corner…._

 

_He could almost reach Henry, he was so close he could almost touch him!! He swung an arm out to do just that!_

 

_And he knocked his hand against a door before momentum made the rest of his body slam into it._

 

_Henry??!_

_HENRY!!_

_It was so hard to breath, the exercise pushing his full lungs and aching his legs… He slammed his hand against the door again._

_HENRY!_

 

_PLEASE._

_Please…._

 

_You gotta help me…._

_I will get you, Ross… I WILL HAVE YOU._

 

_You will be my Creation’s body._

 

_So help me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((I really am sorry this chapter took so long to write. I was kept away from my computer for a while and couldn't finish writing as quickly as I wanted. 
> 
> Honestly though, this is just going to have one more chapter before I start a new story. I had time to think about it, and I'll be doing my own version of everyone escaping the studio. Anyone who likes Sammy Wes? He's gonna come back. Alive. Ish. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter because it was a pain and a half to get done.))


	19. Beginning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of something great.

When Henry Elias Ross walked into his apartment that evening, he was looking forward to putting his feet up and trying to sleep away the weariness that came with working at the grocer. What he hadn't expected was finding a bank letter on the front table, as well as half the kitchen supplies stacked in precarious towers. A quick look around the apartment told him that most of their things were either in bags and boxes, or about to be put in them.

“….Okay. I have a few questions. First being ‘how the hell did you convince the bank to let us buy a studio’? Followed very shortly by ‘why are you packing up all our stuff?’”

“Hello to you, too, Henry.” Joey Drew hobbled to his bedroom door, a bright smile on his face despite the slight sheen of sweat on his face. While he was normally dressed to the nines even to take a trip to the store, he had dressed down to a pair of baggy pants and a plaid shirt. This only confused Henry more; his friend wasn’t that active to begin with, and here he was? Doing what like packing? Joey continued to hold onto the wall as he made his way into the living room, grabbing the couch when he decided to meet his friend halfway. “Good day at the store?”

“Yeah. But you didn’t answer my questions, Joey.” Henry started to pull his apron off over his head, tossing the canvas material onto the counter as he stepped around a few open wooden crates and boxes. “Though I guess I can shorten both to just ‘what the hell’s going on?’”

Joey waved him off, leaning against the couch with his hip. “It’s a little convoluted, but I promise, it makes sense.”

Henry could only sigh, walking over to sit on the couch; he had learned a while ago that while Joseph Drew’s hair-brained ideas were eccentric at best, he actually had sound logic behind them. So he might as well hear it out before either helping or start damage control. “Start talking then.”

The black haired man’s face brightened up with a blinding smile, and he pulled himself around to sit on the couch as well. Henry knew he was in for the long haul when Joey got this excited and started to talk with his hands. “Well, I visited the bank this morning. We got to talking about places for our studio, and the best place I could get was that old mill we saw weeks ago. We can fix it up and everything to be a working studio with just a little electrical work! The old farts at the bank used to be friends with my dad, so he was willing to let us have it for real cheap! Only thing is that we can’t list it as a studio until we get some money and credit under our belts… But we can list it as a house and live there for a bit while we work.”

Wait, what? Henry’s face fell into confusion, and he opened his mouth to speak before Joey shushed him with a finger over his lips. “It’s fine, it’s fine! It’s a single bus to the store, so we don’t have to change your schedule none.”

Okay. That was….admittedly a good thing and got rid of one worry. And the more he thought on it, the more he was okay with moving. It’d be nice living in a bigger area than Joey’s apartment.

BUT. That meant they were going to have to renovate the new place. And Joey, well, as mentioned before, was not that active. They would need some time. “Okay. When do we have to move out then?”

Somehow, that was the question that made Joey look the slightest bit guilty, and he looked away as he fiddled his hands in his lap. “….Friday.”  

“…….You realize that’s in two days, right?” He really, reaaaaaaallly hoped Joey was joking. But no, no. He watched as Joey’s head bobbed in a nod.

Henry had to fight the urge to slap his own face, instead taking a deep, calming breath. “…Okay. This is okay.” No it wasn’t, but he had to convince himself of otherwise. “We can do this. I can take off work for-”

“The hell you can!” Joey piped up, slapping Henry’s arm once. “Don’t worry too much about moving, I got it covered.”

“Last I checked, you’re sweating bullets just packing. How are you going to move everything there?”

“I got help.” Joey crossed his arms proudly, a smirk perking up his face once more. “Had to bribe the old man downstairs to use his truck for a bit.”

“And the actual moving? Who’s gonna help you other than me?” Henry crossed his own arms, but he was closer to scolding his friend than being defensive.

“Our new Music Director. Found him yesterday. Off First and Boulder St.!”

That was when Henry did slap his own face, dragging his hand down the length of his face. He knew that area. It was next to a soup kitchen, and unfortunately, lived up to the stereotype of being a den for vagrants. “You hired a bum? To be a music director?” Honestly, he was surprised that Joey was alive after all these years; sometimes he had the self-preservation skills of a lemming.

When Henry opened an eye to look at Joey, he saw a green-eyed glare boring into him. “Henry Ross, I’m surprised at you. He’s actually a good man, and a damn good musician. You’d like him. He ain’t a wolf.” He doubted it, but, he’d give Joey the benefit of the doubt to avoid an argument. “Besiiiides, he’s pretty strong. He can handle doing the heavy-lifting for us.”

“If you say so.” Pulling his hand up, Henry ran a hand through his short hair before rubbing the back of his neck. He needed to go over his mental checklist of what else would be affected by this change. Money was the biggest issue, but they’d survived on less before. At least HE had, he wasn’t 100% sure about Joey…. They had the skill and knowledge of how to animate. And hopefully, Joey had found a decent musician. Moving was a pain, more so with a looming deadline, but if they had help and a truck, then it was feasible. And, if he was honest with himself, Joey probably had an answer for any other concern he’d have.

There was no real fighting it. They were going to have an honest-to-God studio. Even if they’d have to live in it a while, it was their’s.

He blinked when he felt Joey’s hand on his arm, patting it more gently than before. “It’ll be alright. I promise, I got everything figured out. Mostly, anyways.”

Well. He knew that Joseph Drew didn’t make promises lightly. He was absolutely sure. That alone eased the weight in Henry’s chest, and he started to stand up.

“Then let’s get a move on. We only got two days after all.”


	20. Finding Susie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He needed to find her first. Then charm her inside.

Deciding to find Susie Campbell had opened up a well of problems for Joey Drew. Firstly, she hadn't exactly left the studio on the best of terms, so he had no idea where she might have gone. Secondly, she was a lady with a fairly common name. If she married since leaving SillyVision, then he was really in trouble. He couldn't call every "Susie" in the damn town and pray that he recognized her voice once more. And thirdly? He knew he'd made mistakes over the years... Especially with how he handled replacing her with Allison. If by some miracle he'd found her, there was no guarantee that she'd even come. He could charm all he wanted, but there was no rock-solid guarantee that she would come back to the studio. He could handle her not wanting to be involved in the plans, but at least he could trap her once she was inside.

...

A morbid thought, yes. But Alice was at stake. His Alice Angel.

He'd do anything for his Creations. And he needed to bring them back... If it was required to have Susie, than he'd get Susie.

Thankfully, he hadn't had as much trouble as he anticipated.

Which was all thanks to an almost forgotten calling card he'd found in his office desk drawer. The calling card he'd received from Susie Campbell, which still had his penciled-in reminder on the back. "Sat. 4/19 12p". He was a younger man then, and he couldn't deny the appeal of taking "the new girl" out on a lunch date. It'd gone so well, even if he'd messed up and referred to her as "Alice" at one point. Nothing came of it, obviously. But the fact remained that he kept her card. The card that happened to have her address and phone number on the front.

It was a long shot, but he'd still tried calling the number. The person who picked up was an older woman, answering for "the Campbell Residence". And when Joey asked for "Susie", she said she'd come to the phone right away.

This had to be proof he was on the right track.

"Susie! My goodness, it's been too long."

"...Mr. Drew? How on earth did you-... Nevermind. I don't care."

"Miss Campbell, pl-"

"It's Mrs. Hagen to you, Mr. Drew."

"Oh! I didn't realize you got married."

"I did. Now if there's nothing else, I'm going to hang up now."

"Wait, wait, Susie please no!" He was not fast enough; Susie had hung up on him mid-sentence.

Despite the pang of hurt that resonated in Joey's chest, he got what he wanted. He knew where Susie was. And better yet, she was nearby. All he had to do was convince her to come back to the studio.... Not an easy task, but he could try. It had been nineteen years, after all. Maybe she would respond to reason. Worse that could happen is she'd say "no". And if so? There was always more "effective" ways of getting her back into the studio.

* * *

It was a gorgeous September afternoon. The leaves on the trees were turning into fiery oranges and red, drifting off the branches as a light breeze took them. Thick grey clouds rested in the sky, signalling on-coming storms in the weeks to come. But for now, they stayed still, filtering the sun into a gentle illuminating light.

The beautiful weather was not as striking to him, considering how often Joey saw this exact sight for weeks now. But to the small toon at his right, seeing such colors and feeling such a pleasant chill made him tear up ink in pure joy.

Bendy stayed just inside the threshold of the door, fighting every urge in his compact body to lean forward or to jump onto the steps. But he still kept himself as close to the door as he possibly could, excitedly looking around the scenry. " _ **This is amazin', Joey!! It's all changin' and makin' ev'n more colors!**_ "

The eagerness was enough to make Joey smile, and he reached back into the studio to pat his little Devil Darling behind the horns. "Ya like it, huh?"

" ** _Oh yeah!_** " The small demon gave a pleased whistle through his teeth, which turned into a giggle as his head was ruffled. He so, so desperately wanted to jump past the studio doors. But it hurt when he did. He couldn't even reach his arm out past the door, or it'd start to hurt. But he could enjoy the sights at least!

"Well, that's good. Because after today?" Joey started to kneel down so he was more at his Creation's height, putting a hand on his inky shoulder to steady himself. "After today, I'll have a better idea on how to get you outta here. You and Boris and Alice."

Bendy's eyes widened slightly, and he stared up to Joey. " _ **...You... You'll know how to help them??**_ " Help them not be...Puddles?

"Yes." Joey nodded to emphasize, and couldn't stop his own smile. "But you gotta do me a big favor. Can you do that, bud?"

The little demon nodded furiously as an answer, making a jingling bell sound as he did.

Joey chuckled, but took in a calming breath before addressing Bendy once more. "Okay. I need you to run into my room, and hide. Stay hidden until I come get you."

Bendy's smile dimmed considerably at that, but he trusted Joey. His Creator knew what to do. He would know how to make this work... Right?

"It's only because I'm expecting someone else here. And remember what I told you? Not everyone would be as happy as I am about having a little demon hanging around. Silly superstitions and all that." Joey bounced a shoulder in a shrug, trying to keep the mood light. It didn't seem to work that well, so Joey had to try a different angle. "... It won't be that long. And hey, I'll be close. If you feel sick again, you can find me. I won't get mad even if I'm with our guest."

" _ **....Promise?**_ "

"Promise." Joey held out his hand, the inky skin hidden under a thick glove. Bendy's own gloved hand took his Creator's and gave it a firm shake. It was probably unnecessary, but honestly, it made him feel better. Deals and promises and words were the things of devils. Even little dancing ones. With a wink, Bendy turned on the toe of his left shoe, than took off into the studio.

His timing was impeccable. No sooner did Joey hear the distant sound of a door slamming shut before he saw  a cab pull up. Once the car sputtered to a stop, the cabbie hopped out before opening up the back door. And there was Susie Hagen-Campbell... Still a lovely woman, even if she used a little too much bleach in her hair and had the personality of an irate bird. As she walked around the back of the car, she took long strides to the steps of the studio. Each click of her heels threatened to break the rotting wood, but no board broke under her weight. She made it to the top of the steps, glowering at Joey once she was at the upper-most step. "Mr. Drew."

"Mrs. Hagen." Joey smiled politely, ushering her over the threshold. "I'm so glad you got my letter."

"You got my curiosity, I'll admit that much. .... But last I checked, you only just recovered the rights to Alice Angel recently." Susie crossed her arms in front of her chest, glaring down to Joey. "You'd have to get a lot more done on her show before even thinking about hiring on a voice actress. I don't see how I can help in that."

"Susie." Joey gently touched his chest with one hand, outstretching his other hand. "Susie... You were the first to take on Alice's character. You helped bring her life." His silver tongue was smooth, inviting, and ever so charming as he spoke. He needed Susie. He needed her. For his Creation. "It's the reason I started to look for you. ... You are Alice, my dear."

That alone seemed to break at Susie's thick armor, and she took a few steps into the studio.

Into Joey's web.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((OKAY. SO. I will be writing another chapter or two after this that focuses on what Susie's role in all this is. 
> 
> But as for the rest of the chapters, they have been edited and updated to match what we found out in Chapter 3 of the game!))


	21. His Stage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joey may be charming, but he'll admit that everything he told Susie Hagen-Campbell was the truth. 
> 
> And in all fairness, everything he told her was the truth.

She was inside.

This fact alone made Joey so ecstatic, and he was having a difficult time keeping his expression so neutral. He stayed a few paces ahead of her, making a bee line for his office. He could hear the clicks of Susie's heels slow and stop as the Ink Machine came into view. "How-... Why on Earth is that flooding?" Joey looked over his shoulder, curious as to why she had stopped. His answer was the image of Mrs. Hagen-Campbell holding onto the door jamb and stepping out of her pristine white heels. She carefully picked up the shoes to hold, calmly walking onto the black, ink-ridden floor to follow him. After closing the distance between them, Susie looked down at her former employer, her face stern and set in a scowl. "....Well?" She made a gesture to the Ink Machine before asking once more "Why is that noisy thing back on still?"

Joey had opened his mouth to answer her, but was immediately interrupted and spoken over. "And how dare you?!"

 

Those last four words had shocked him, his mouth snapping shut in response. Now he was just confused. All he could do was ask "...Pardon?"

"How dare you call my home?!" Susie barked, stepping in front of him so he couldn't help but look up to her. She was furious, that much he could tell."You call my mother just out of the blue, and then have the nerve to mail her? You had no right! Especially with how you treated me beforehand! How you treated me and everyone else in the studio!!"

Joey had to struggle to swallow a lump in his throat, steeling his face into a more neutral expression. He deserved that. He deserved to be yelled at. Hell, he deserved a lot more given what had happened here in his home. His eyes drifted down to the floor between them, and he heaved a heavy sigh. He thought about Wally... How that poor man was losing his memory day by day. And about Norman... He never knew the projectionist had snuck in, and yet was caught by the Ink Machine. He thought about the people he killed and had killed. And of what was at stake. So, he let his guard down. He didn't need to charm her. He needed to be honest. "You're right. ... And I'm sorry."

Whatever Susie had expected, this was not it. She took a step back in uncertainty, and seemed ready to run. Again, Joey knew he deserved that. He had a reputation, unforunately. One that Susie had kept for nearly twenty years now. He couldn't blame her. It was true.

"I'm sorry." He repeated, letting his arms fall to his sides as he looked up to Susie Hagen. "I did so many things I regret. Treating you like I did, what happened with Allison..." He had to stop for a second, feeling something thick clog his throat. "...And the worst part of it is that I thought I was in the right before. I know better now. ...I'm so, so sorry, Susie. I really am. ....I wish I could go back and change things, but I can't. All I can do is try and make ammends... Attempt to make up for what I did." He started to look up, and noticed how much softer Susie's face was. Her scowl had melted away, a look of rare compassion replacing it.

It didn't stay too long, a guarded grimace straightening her lips into a thin line as silence stretched between them. Even so, he could see the softness in her hazel eyes, which searched his face for any hint that he was being untruthful.

"I'm not asking you to forgive me. That's unfair to you. But please... Please let me show you what I think we can do." He drug his heel back, letting the motion turn him to the left and face the giant Ink Machine. "I've been doing so much with this machine... You remember Murray Hill?"

Susie seemed to struggle with her own words, but swallowed thickly before asking "That young man who worked with Thomas sometimes?"

"Yes. ... He had his own ideas on how to make this machine even better. And I kid you not, a lot of blood, sweat, and tears went into making this a reality." He reached out, resting his gloved hand against the wooden side of the Ink Machine. She'd probably never know how true that statement was, and the thought brought a doleful smile to his lips. But he couldn't admit everything; Bendy was hiding somewhere in this room. And God knew that Bendy was not ready to hear, or see, what Joey had done.

Thankfully, Susie had chosen then to ask "What makes this machine so special now?"

Joey's smile grew a little wider, and he faced the voice actress. "It's made the impossible possible." He could see her beginning to roll her eyes, but he quickly pointed out something: his own legs. "Remember how bad my leg got? How that crock of a nurse treated me in the infirmary"

Her eyebrows shot up as she did a double-take, finally realizing that Joey Drew -a man striken with a birth defect and unable to walk without assistance- was indeed standing on his own. He still limped and a little bowlegged, but he was without crutches or a cane! "Oh my word..."

"It's like I said before, my dear. Belief can make you suceed."

"I think this goes beyond simple belief, Joey!" Her voice was pitched with disbelief, but the animator could tell she was impressed. "This is a damned miracle... You. Up and walking... Never thought I'd see the day."

"There's more, you know." The enticement in his tone was practiced, making it all the more effective. Susie only stared at him in disbelief, blinking a few times. "But it's down in the former merch department."

 

His stage was set. He cued a stage left exit.

 

"If you wouldn't mind following me?"

 

He needed to do this. He didn't want to... But his Creations were at stake. He needed Alice back. He needed Boris back. And most importantly, he needed to keep Bendy safe.

 

 

"...I would not mind."

 

Stage left exit.

 

"But I would prefer taking the lift."


	22. Stay Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s a shadow on the wall  
> Stay calm, stay calm  
> There’s a figure in the hall  
> Stay calm, stay calm...  
> Every hair is on it’s end  
> That’s fine, I’m fine  
> Feeling my adrenaline  
> That’s fine, I’m fine...  
> -Griffinilla

He didn't like coming down here.

He didn't like it one bit.

But he needed to do something. Anything. Just something to convince Susie that the Ink Machine was capable of doing something spectacular. And he couldn't show her the cartoons. He couldn't. Not yet... He didn't want to scare Bendy. Or scare her with the remains of his perfect Boris and Alice. And she would not do well with the mindless Searchers.

That left with him with showing her the only two inky creatures that the Machine had managed to get right. And she'd recognize Wally in an instant; who couldn't with his voice? So only Norman remained....

No. He couldn't call him that. He wasn't Norman Polk anymore. He was... Well, he wasn't sure what, but that wasn't the black bear of a man who enjoyed sneaking up on others and did his jobs diligently. 

As the two of them walked into the elevator, Joey quickly reached over and pressed the bulbous button for floor 14. As the doors creaked shut and the floor began to descend, he decided to ask the main question that had been nagging in the back of his mind since he saw Susie. "If you don't mind me asking, where is your husband?"

"I do mind." Her voice was noticeably sharp, and he didn't miss the way her hands tightened into white fists. He'd hit a rather tender nerve apparently.

"Sorry."

There was a small beat of silence before Susie let out a quiet chuckle. It wasn't cheerful, but there was a relieved but exasperated tone to it. "Listen to you... Apologizing? Who are you and what have you done with Joey Drew?" She looked over her shoulder, a small smile on her face as she caught Joey's eye.

He blinked a little at the comment, an irritated expression crossing his face. That painted a rather cruel picture of him, and he didn't see it. "... What? ... I know I used to be more irritable, but I'm not callous."

Susie's momentary mirth fell away, and she turned her shoulders so she could face him. "You gave nearly everyone that impression." Before Joey could counter, she held up a hand to shush him. "You did. ...Not at first. But once Henry left... Well...." She bounced her shoulder in a shrug, but that said all that needed to be said. "...I didn't want to leave. But you said it yourself: you did a lot of things. You treated us horribly those last few years."

Suddenly, that cruel picture seemed like a real-life snapshot.

He had no chance to respond or reflect, for the elevator jolted and the doors were creaking open. And he walked out of the now-claustrophobic space, made tense by an unintentional Susie. At least, he hoped it was unintentional... Gripping the wooden railing, he started down the stairs. He'd barely made it to the landing before he could hear the gasp of Mrs. Hagen-Campbell behind him. Instinct made him jump as Susie ran in front of him, leaning on the rail to better see the bouncing ray of light. "What.... What is that?"

Right.

"That, my dear... Is the Projectionist." He stretched a hand out to the floor of level 14, making a grand show of the wild creature in his open cage. The deaf thing didn't even stop in his sulking, walking out of the first hallway and into the open area.

Nothing could have prepared him for the light of the projector to flash upwards, and for the unholy screech that echoed up to him. It was so loud, so grating, he could feel his heart drop into his churning stomach.

Norman.

That unholy sound was Norman Polk.

The light passed over them, and the Projectionist fell silent once more. Its mechanical head swung back and forth, its sharp yellow-hued light acting like eyes. For a split second, Joey could swear it was thinking...

But then it went back on its familiar path. Its bouncing gait was nothing but a body forcing itself to move. Every motion was forced, exaggerated without life... It really was a mindless creature. And Joey could feel remaining guilt eat at him.

"...Joey..." Susie's voice was quiet as she spoke, carefully stepping back from the rail. ".... Joey, that-"

"I know, Susie. But... That was a particularly special situation." Thank Whatever Higher Power who still listened to him that he didn't stumble over his silver tongue. That he could pretend that this was done on purpose and not something he was still coming to terms with. And that he wasn't terrified by the words leaving his mouth. "See. This poor creature was a dead man at first. Some tragic accident that claimed his life and took his head clean off. After he went through the Ink Machine, though... This is what happened." He placed a hand on Susie's shoulder, praying that he wasn't shaking as badly as his legs were. "I had no control over this... But I know it's possible to make actual characters from the Ink Machine. Maybe it's just part of my belief... But we can cheat death, Susie."

His heart was pounding in his ears, he almost missed the awe in her voice as she whispered something. "So we can...."

* * *

It was nearly a month later when he realized he'd made another mistake. A week of Susie visiting the studio, day in and day out. He was far too concerned keeping Bendy out of her eye.

No. Not just that... He wanted to stay with Bendy as much as he could. Bendy was still alive, sentient, and could remember. He was the only one who was all three. His Creation was the only thing keeping him calm and sane at this point. If he let his thoughts wander to the Projectionist, the Searchers, or even to the "bodies" of Boris and Alice, there was a strong possibility he'd lose what was left of his mind. It wasn't fair to Bendy, and he knew it. But he was out of options now. He had to stay calm. Susie was willing to help him figure out how to make the cartoon characters out of ink, and he needed her help. She was so willing to learn how to make the Ink Machine work. He couldn't teach her, afraid to let something slip, but he let her look over his notes, his books, and even Hill's plans.

That should've tipped him off. Her sudden interest and passion in this strangeness. It'd taken him almost ten years to become comfortable with this, and here was Susie Hagen, so willing and quick to just accept this.

He didn't think much of it.

But that was before.

He had been in the infirmary area, checking on the ink valve. There hadn't been as many leaks in the upper floor, which was why he was in the Music Department. He had to admit being surprised that the stairs hadn't been flooded, but he still needed to check the valves. Just to be sure.

" ** _Joey!!_** "

He jumped to attention, registering the scared voice of his Devil Darling.

" ** _JOEY!_** "

Something was wrong. He didn't bother calling out, forcing himself to go up the stairs and follow the voice. The soft sounds of boots hitting the floor was his only warning before he felt a weight latch on to his waist. " ** _JOEY, I-I-i-ii-she jus'- I c-c-cou-couldn'-_** " The demon dissolved into hysterical sobs, latching on to his vest.

That was enough to get Joey into panic mode. He pulled Bendy off of his vest, but kept him in his arms as he pulled him up. "Bendy, Bendy, darling! Bendy!" He put a hand on the back of the demon's head, holding him close. "Bendy, what's wrong? What happened?"

Bendy tried to take in a deep breath, but it came out as a string of hiccups. " ** _Ihhh-it's... It's Mrs. Hagen! Shhh... SHeeeee.. SHE KILLED THEM!_** " A violent shudder accompanied a sob, and it took all of Joey's power to not panic more than he already was. " ** _Chuuh-...Charley an'-an' Barley...an' Edgar!! She killed them! Stuufff-stuffed 'm in the machine!_** "

He had to take a moment to realize what Bendy meant. Then his head was spinning. The Butcher Gang? He hadn't brought them to life... He hadn't thought them necessary, and there was no way to tell who Henry based them off of.

But he didn't see the need to tell the terrified demon that.

"Shhh.... Hey now, Bendy... Bendy, I didn't bring them to life, there's no way she could have-"

" ** _SHE DID!!_** " Bendy's ink was beginning to bubble and drip off his form, and Joey held him a little tighter. " ** _I saw 'm, Joey!! Sh-she....! She hurt them! She hurt them bad!! They look a little li' you!_** "

More like him?

.....

 

More like a human, not a cartoon.

 

Oh no.

He immediately set Bendy down in the infirmary chair, firmly holding his shoulders. "Bendy. You stay right here. Don't do anything but hide."

" ** _B-but-_** "

"I mean it. I'm going to talk with Mrs. Hagen."

Well, he was going to do more than that. But he started to run up the stairs, heart pounding as he tried to rush to the Ink Machine room.

What on Earth was she doing?

And what mistake had he done this time. The last one had been Wally.... Who was a victim this time?


	23. Humans are Monsters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joey finds out what Susie did. 
> 
> And who she killed.

Joey Drew had made a lot of mistakes in his life. He could admit that about himself. One of those mistakes was unintentionally killing Wally Franks. That truly haunted him. It hadn't helped him when his killings became intentional, but he could rationalize that he had sacrificed many people for his imperative job of filling the Ink Machine with blood and ink. Even if the job was self-imposed. The true horror didn't weigh so heavily on his mind because of two facts. The selfish fact was the fact he'd never been particularly close to those he'd sacrificed to the machine. They were just people he'd known by name, who came and did their jobs before collecting a paycheck. But the second, and more significant, fact that helped put his mind at ease was that he had killed them with a purpose. He killed them to fill the machine's grotesque contents, and to bring his Creations to life. He tried to not make them suffer. Even when some did slip through and suffered as their life drained away, he could at least reassure himself he'd tried. He wasn't cruel.

But Susie Hagen-Campbell?

She apparently had no such decency.

"Come on now... In you go..." Joey watched in abject horror as he saw the woman standing on her tip-toes, sliding what looked like bags of ink-made organs into the top of the Ink Machine. Her dress, formerly a light blue, was stained with black spatters. But at her feet was a collection of three bodies. Some grotesque hybrids of cartoon and human features, but they were still recognizable. Just like Bendy said, it was the Butcher Gang.

... At least he hoped so. He sincerely hoped that was them. It made him violently sick to see the missing hand and leg on Charley, but shifting his gaze to poor Barley, his head removed from the rest of his body and bleeding ink from the sides of his head and chin, did not help. But then there was Edgar. His fangs digging into his lips that were sewn shut and his right eye gouged out...

He could see why Bendy had been melting in fear. He was sweating bullets himself just looking at them.

The three bodies were slowly melting into thick ink, reminding him of screen printing ink due to how glutinous it looked. And Susie didn't care. Once she slammed the top of the Machine shut, she stood back and watched the nozzle pulse and spin.

Joey realized he hadn't once spoke. Apparently Susie didn't hear him over the grinding and thrumming of the machine. So he decided to use the element of surprise. "What in the HELL are you DOING?!" Susie immediately jumped at his voice, no doubt surprised at being caught. But before she could think of anything to say or do, Joey had lunged forward and gripped her upper arms. He slammed her against the side of the Ink Machine, too furious and disgusted to think clearly. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE??"

The actress froze in front of him. Her lips quivered before being set in a straight line, but her eyes were still wild. Her pupils were blown and seemed to stare through his own slimey ink-filled ones.

  
She was scared.

Good.

But she hadn't answered him. He pulled her back an inch, shoving her against the damned machine once more. "ANSWER ME!"

She didn't. She couldn't seem to move her lips at all.

That was when he noticed the spatters of red on her cheek. That was not ink.... But something just as important. Something synonymous in this studio. Joey pulled back, and he felt even more disgusted. "... What have you done....? ... Who did you kill?"

She still couldn't answer.

She seemed unwilling to, looking anywhere except to Joey Drew.

But luckily for her, something else took his attention. Namely, the sound of something dropping out of the Ink Machine's nozzle. He finally tore his eyes away from this treacherous woman, forcing himself to the end of the Ink Machine to watch what was happening. He'd never seen what came out of this second Ink Machine, but he needed to see now. He needed to know what was going on. If this was okay or if he could fix this...

Three jelly-like bodies were shimmering in the pool of crucor-like ink, pulsing as they made proper forms. But this wasn't the Butcher Gang he enjoyed and drew. Charley lost all of his cartoon dignity, his humanoid mouth open and gasping. One eye was sunken while the other was stitched shut. The missing hand had not returned, and the missing leg was replaced with a plunger; it gave the gentlemanly cartoon a horrific impression of a scarecrow. Barley, the proud and hardened sailor, was worse. His head was still disconnected from the rest of his body, attached by something that looked like a fishing pole. It was painful to look at his face, with the cartoonish portions not matching the set of visible human teeth. He could barely tell this had been Barley, with his distinguishing beard and eyepatch not on him. And Edgar... His eyes were similarly mismatched, but to a much more prominent degree. A notched eye on one side, matched with a bulging human one. And worse, a set of teeth was on the top of his head, despite the stitched lips.

Actually, what was worse was the fact that all three were conscious. They were all gently touching themselves as ink rolled off their bodies, assessing themselves with the same level of horror that Joey felt. Edgar immediately tried to scream, fiercely trying to scratch and pry open his lips. All that came out was a muffled screech, but he tried. He tried so hard. Barley felt for his dangling head, gasping as he gently felt the lack of a neck. " **... So...cold......T's....so cold....** "

Joey Drew had been struck dumb by the macabre versions of the Butcher Gang, so he didn't notice the remaining member of the trio stumbling up to him and pulling at his pants and vest with his single hand. He only heard " **KilL Me! HiT mE! HIT ME HIT ME!!!** " and tried to pull away. But Charley was persistent. Black tears were beading in the creases of the single sunken eye and threatening to spill down. " **Heeeehhhsssstah Hrrrrewww... Heeehh Me....** "

Joey sunk down on one knee, his disgust forgotten and immediately replaced with fear. His voice shook as he asked "... Who are you?", carefully holding the patchwork face in his hands.

" **...I...ChAAARR...** " He stopped, letting his chin shift back and forth as he struggled to talk with an open mouth. Joey was patient, but he really couldn't understand the words that the cartoon was trying to say, so he instead rested his hand on the creature's back. Charley was starting to give up on the whole idea of speaking, leaving heavily against Joey for the support he lacked. " **Caaahh... Huuuunnn... Haaaannnn... Caaaah....Hunnnn...** "

A muffled screech followed by a short yelp caught Joey's attention, and he saw what the commotion was about. Susie had attempted a step towards him and the confused toon hybrids, but stopped as Edgar swung his mechanical arm at her, attempting to strike her. She bounced back a step, hands floating to her own abdomen as she looked between all of them. "No... This wasn't-... They were the right ones, I know they were. ...What went wrong?" Confusion laced her tone, which infuriated Joey all the more; she should sound morose. Or be upset. Not simply confused! She was a goddamn voice actress, she could AT LEAST made the EFFORT!

"...I won't ask again. What did you do?"

At least she had the decency to answer this time. "I did the same thing you did, Joey Drew."

"What do you mean?" He started to stand again, Charley limping away to the rest of the confused trio. He would never have done something as horrific as this!

"I did. The same... Godforsaken thing... That you did. ... To Norman. And to Wally." Her face curdled into a glare, her fists balled at the sides of her body. Her outward fury contrasted with the icy tone in her voice. "I know what you did, you bastard. And you have the gall to yell at me when you did this first?" Taking a step forward, the Butcher Gang cowered away from her and tried to hide behind the machine. "You... Who threw people into this machine while they were still alive?! I at least made sure they were fucking DEAD before putting them into the machine!"

He should've asked what on Earth she was talking about. And what she meant by "at least they were dead". Instead, what came out of his mouth was "Who ARE THEY?!"

Susie tsked a little, pointing to the trio as they attempted to escape. "What, can't you tell?? You're the damn character designer!" She stomped over to the opposite wall, pulling a piece of paper out of a notebook that Joey hadn't seen there prior. She held up the paper, pointing furiously at it. "SEE?? Right here! In your handwriting! 'Thomas Connor', 'Grant Cohen', and 'Shawn Flynn'. 'Barley', 'Charley', and 'Edgar'!"

He'd never seen that paper before. He'd honestly never known that those three men were the inspirations for the notorious Butcher Gang. And yet... He could see it then. Charley's attempts at words... He'd said "Cohen". "Grant Cohen". Barley was cold... Grant could never stay warm. And while he couldn't see a direct connection with Edgar... He could admit now that the muffled tones he heard sounded suspiously like the former toy-maker's. Instead of questioning, he reached forward and snagged the paper from Susie. She had to be joking... Making a mistake... She had to, there was no way, absolutely none, this was not how it was supposed to go-

"You took Norman's whole head... You fucking lied to me. ...Made him into that... Projectionist. And the musicians... Wally?? Fucking WALLY?! ...Mr. Murray Hill told me everything." She slid open the top of the machine once more, leaving Joey paralyzed as he stood. "How you killed everyone here? How you made them into these...ink-based things? ...And how cruel you were making them." She started to climb up the machine, sitting precariously on the edge of the opening. "But, at least he told me how to make them right. If one of them is made wrong? You can just kill them. Bring them back to the machine, and try again. On and on until you get the right version. You can just keep bringing them back. They don't have to stay dead! Hell, I could die right now and come back as a cartoon! ....In fact. I just will."

That snapped Joey out of his stupor at least. But he was still too late.

Susie Hagen-Campbell had folded her arms across her chest, leaning backwards until she fell into the large vat of the Machine.

What happened afterward, Joey honestly could not remember clearly. He did something, he know he had. But at the same time, it'd felt so dream-like. No, nothing so poetic. He could vividly remember the sensations, but not the exact context. It had felt like... All of a sudden, his mind was three inches to the right of his body. He could watch what was going on, but not control any of it. He remembered watching himself picking up a tin bucket... And he remembered the feeling of slick liquid on his arms as he was elbow-deep in the stuff.... And he remembered the echo of something being slammed shut. And he definitely remembered the sensation of holding some creatures in his arms, the weight rapidly disappearing like he was holding disintegrating sand.

But he couldn't remember much outside of that.

He didn't realize all of what he was doing until he was sitting on top of someone. A somewhat small someone... His hands were wrapped around something resembling a neck. His eyes began to focus on the face above his grip, and he found...

This wasn't Alice.

Alice was good. She was kind. She was charming. She was perfect.

This was... This was a horrid woman with some of her features.

"You aren't... You aren't Alice. You aren't right..." His grip became tight. "You aren't RIGHT." He could feel the fresh life leaving her body once more, and yet he squeezed tighter. "You aren't MY ALICE! You aren't PERFECT."

He kept his grip until the body stopped spasming beneath him.

He wanted to torture her. And he got his wish.

Later, he would find a pair of scissors. He would do this damned ritual correctly. Not for Susie's sake, but for Alice. Alice needed to come back.

Once the ritual was completed, he took the limp body down to the lower floors. He set her down on a table in the merchandising room with the toy machine. She would at least be surrounded by sweet versions of herself and her friends when she awoke. He could keep an eye on her then....

But he knew now.

He couldn't trust these humans. They were terrible. They were cruel. They lied. They cheated. They would do nothing but hurt him and those he held dear.

So he went to work. Writing a letter to someone he'd once called a friend.

Maybe this one would be calmer.... Less of a mess.

And, at least this one wouldn't go out of their way to hurt him. He knew that much.

"Dear Sammy Wes..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ((OKAY. FINALLY. 
> 
> This one took a bit too long to update, I'll admit, but I'm kinda happy with this now.
> 
> I'm a little on the fence to write a standalone series with just Susie, because she honestly did not think she did anything wrong here.))


	24. (Chapters in Correct Timeline Order)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is just a list of the previous chapters in order, just for those who either don't like the out-of-order style or just want to read them in the order of the timeline.

 

 

> [1: Inspired Artist](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/25002159)  
>  [3: Meeting Ross](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/25027785)  
>  [19: Beginning](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/25951200)  
>  [7: Sammy Wes is a Lil Shit](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/25202880)  
>  [11: Playing Hero](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/25380183)  
>  [6: Bitter Fallout](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/25145091)  
>  [8: Get Outta Here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/25217328)  
>  [9: The Price of the Artist](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/25304733)  
>  [10: Mistakes Cost Too Much Here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/25321209)  
>  [12: Almost Terrifying](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/25433583)  
>  [4: Lil' Devil Darling](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/25073556)  
>  [13: Promise?](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/25438161)  
>  [15: Last Shot](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/25577925)  
>  [16: Looking Up  
>  ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/25655289)[20: Finding Susie  
>  ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/28334949)[21: His Stage  
>  ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/28569988)[22\. Stay Calm  
> ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/28763040)[23\. Humans are Monsters](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/28887270)  
>  [2: His Chance](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/25003800)  
>  [5: Not a Human Being](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/25126668)  
>  [14: Twisting and Turning to Acetone](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/25515471)  
>  [17: Wally's Revenge](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/25781493)  
>  [18: Dismay](http://archiveofourown.org/works/11196159/chapters/25893492)
> 
>  


End file.
